Nocturnal
by forcedInduction
Summary: Harry and Hermione have a series of very interesting nights, beginning with the Polyjuice Incident. HHr romance in second year. M for sexy reasons. Featuring Ron "Lovable Comic Relief" Weasley. Re-polished in 2014.
1. Chapter 1

**Updated June 2012, because it needed some polish. If you like this story, you may like the ones posted on my other pen-name, tli. A link to my other profile can be found in my author favorites.**

Chapter 1

After their brief foray into Slytherin territory in second year, thereafter known as the "Polyjuice Incident," Ron had immediately bolted back to Gryffindor tower, citing a "wardrobe malfunction" - whatever that was. Harry, though, had no concern but for Hermione, who had worryingly stayed behind. As he jogged back to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, he cursed himself for leaving without Hermione.

It was the wrong thing to do for several reasons: First, Hermione was his best friend. He should not have let her protests keep him from checking on her. She could have had a severe problem with the Polyjuice. Second, their performance in the Slytherin common room was – to put it generously - poor. Hermione, though not a very good actress in her own skin, probably would have been able to smooth over some of their mistakes. Third, they had gotten lost in the dungeons trying to find the entrance to Slytherin. Hermione's near-encyclopedic knowledge of the castle could have spared them that detour.

As Harry reached the restroom that had housed their illicit potions lab, he heard Hermione sniffling from the same stall where he'd left her.

Hearing Harry's footsteps, the bushy-haired witch responded with a quaver in her voice. "H-Harry? Ron?"

Slowly approaching the door, Harry replied in what he hoped was a soothing voice. "It's just me. Are you alright? What happened?"

"Harry..." He heard a sniffle and a hiccup. "I have an odd request. Could you... could you get me some milk and your Transfiguration and Charms books? Please. It's important."

Harry slid the requested books under the door and fought to keep from asking what in Merlin's name she needed _milk_ for. This was Hermione, after all, so it made little sense to question her. The dark-haired young man sprinted into the hall, nearly tripping as he exited the bathroom, and practically flew in the direction of the Great Hall.

Approaching the Gryffindor table at a haggard, but still jaunty pace, he collapsed face-first onto the ancient wood, gasping the word "milk" in hopes that the table might grant him some. When he looked up after a moment's rest, it seemed the pitcher had been a foot away from his head the whole time. He took it and left at a jog, humming a tune Dudley used to hum while beating him up or climbing stairs – pretty much whenever he broke a sweat.

Harry found that beatings were easier to endure if one had a sense of humor about them.

Entering the forsaken bathroom, Harry came to a stop in front of Hermione's stall. Still worried for her health, he spoke. "I'll give you the milk if you come out and tell me what's happening. You're worrying me."

"Would it be alright if I drank it on the way to the hospital wing?" Hermione inquired, the quaver and sniffling now absent from her voice. "You can come with me and I'll explain there."

Hermione had already packed Harry's books back into his bag and, as Harry waited with bated breath, she opened the stall door and strode out with a tight-lipped smile. Harry looked her up and down, finding nothing wrong until his gaze reached her face. The first thing he noticed was that she was blushing furiously, and he suddenly realized that his inspection might have given her the wrong idea. Before he could open his mouth to stutter an apology, he noticed something else. Hermione was not merely blushing, her eyes and face were actually _glowing!_ It seemed she had performed some very rough magic _on her face,_ though to what end, he could not say.

The walk to the hospital wing was tense. Harry continued to try to work out the reason for the glowing around Hermione's face, while Hermione kept nervously adjusting her skirt and pawing at her hair in between sips of milk. She would give him a sidelong glance only to find him immediately meeting her eyes, seemingly hypnotized. After they had covered some distance, Harry noticed that the troubled witch appeared to be sniffing the air with a great deal of concentration. Finally, she asked Harry if he smelled something.

"No..." Harry replied with some confusion and worry.

Hermione continued to sniff as they walked, eventually zeroing in on Harry himself. She eyed him curiously. "Harry, are you wearing a new cologne or something?"

"No."

"New shampoo or soap? Anything?"

"Haven't changed a thing." Harry replied, now quite worried that he was covered in some offensive scent.

Hermione looked a bit surprised. "Hm. Well, whatever it is, I quite like it. Don't change anything."

When the two finally reached the hospital wing, Hermione led the way in. Noticing that the wing was devoid of students, the bushy-haired witch gave a sigh of relief, turned to Harry and favored him with a nervous smile.

This was the first time Harry had seen a genuine smile from her since this fiasco had begun, and he instantly noticed something off about it. It was the fangs, he decided. She had fangs.

That was new.

A lesser wizard might have panicked. Ron Weasley probably would have cast a reductor curse at the nearest chair and tried to pierce Hermione's heart with a bit of wood, assuming that Hermione was some kind of vampire, but Harry had something most wizards lacked: common sense. He wouldn't be fishing about for garlic. He had worked out that Hermione's dose of Polyjuice must have been tainted with something, and knew that vampirism wasn't the sort of thing that would affect someone via Polyjuice. Between the fidgeting, the craving for milk, and the general aura of discomfort she'd exuded, it was likely her problems went beyond fangs.

Harry needed wonder no more, as Hermione took this time to explain. "I think I got a cat hair instead of one of Millicent's. I've got cat ears, slitted pupils." She cast her eyes to the ground and her face glowed without the assistance of magic. "Other issues..." She muttered quietly, then looked up at Harry again. "I'm also just feeling a bit strange – though I think the milk helped with that – thank you." At this, Harry waved her gratitude away. "What worries me is that it hasn't worn off yet. I've got some theories on why that is, but I'll let you hear them with Madam Pomfrey."

As Hermione finished speaking, Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office at the far end of the wing, and, noticing she had patients, briskly approached them. "Hello Miss Granger, what's he gotten himself into now?"

Harry had the decency to look surprised and slightly hurt at her assumption. Hermione corrected her. "It's actually me, ma'am. I started feeling strange after potions this morning, and just a while ago I came across a cat in a corridor on my way out of the bathroom. I got a bit dizzy and thankfully Harry was waiting for me outside, and he made sure I didn't fall. I was worried about people seeing me, so I disillusioned the tail and put glamours on my face to hide my eyes and the new ears." With that, Hermione waved her wand past her face and, with a _finite,_ her face lost the glow and her new features faded back into existence.

As Harry watched the glow in her eyes flicker and fade, he realized that Hermione's newly-slitted eyes were quite nice to look at – a little unnerving, but a striking cinnamon brown. Then he remembered they'd always been that color - he just hadn't looked often enough. As he came out of his reverie, he realized that Hermione had just spun a fantastically elegant lie to keep the two of them out of trouble. It accounted for the presence of Polyjuice in her system (perhaps via contaminated potions lab surfaces) as well as her new feline qualities.

In a timid, but measured tone, Hermione continued describing her ailment while the Hogwarts Matron examined her. "I had a bit of a headache at first, as well as some trouble seeing, though that's all gone away. The ears and tail are blended right into me - it's not as if they're tacked on. I'm fairly certain my sense of smell is stronger and I had a craving for milk. Oh, and my hearing seems to be better."

Madam Pomfrey continued muttering diagnostic and healing spells, nodding and tutting at appropriate intervals. Harry had nodded thoughtfully along with Hermione's list of symptoms until she had reached the word "tail," at which point he went a bit bug-eyed. As she continued speaking, Harry's eyes darted downward, taking in the odd shape of the back of her skirt. He could just make out the tip of a furry black tail swishing to and fro around the hem of the skirt. He felt his face heat up and tried to divert his attention somewhere else.

As Hermione and Pomfrey chattered on about Hermione's new feline attributes, Harry started to wonder how their peers might react to such a change in their classmate.

Immediately, he was worried.

The magical community – especially its children – did not handle change or diversity well. Just as Harry was suddenly the heir of Slytherin, Hermione would suddenly be a freak or a beast. He could quite clearly picture what the likes of Malfoy would say if they knew about her condition. They would call her names. They would bully her even more. Malfoy already judged her for her lineage; knowing that Hermione was now not entirely human would only give him more ammunition.

Overhearing something about chromosomes in relation to the duration of Polyjuice effects, Harry again drifted away from the conversation and back to Hermione. She would need to be protected. Would Madame Pomfrey keep the secret? Probably. Could the more obvious feline traits be hidden? Almost certainly. After all, the glamour charms – first attempts, he guessed – had hidden the ears and pupils. At this point, Hermione's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Harry, did you hear me?"

"Sorry, what?" Harry noticed that the Hogwarts matron had returned to her office, once again leaving him alone with his bushy-haired friend.

"I'm going to spend the night in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey wants to keep me for observation, and I can see her point. Professor McGonagall is going to have a go at fixing me tomorrow. She's ideal to help, really, being a cat animagus as well as a Transfiguration Mistress." She tried to keep her tone bright and hopeful.

Harry nodded along and tried to keep up with her nervous, slightly rambling report. She was genuinely and understandably worried and so was he. Remembering his lonely nights in the hospital wing, he was struck by an impulse to stay with her.

"Do you – do you want me to stay with you? Nights here aren't much fun when you're by yourself. I always wished I had some company..." He trailed off.

Hermione's eyebrows knitted together and her features betrayed surprise for a moment. She bit her lip. "Would you really like to stay?" She asked tentatively. "I _would_ feel better with you here. I'd have someone to talk to, and you wouldn't be too far away. We'd have to ask Madam Pomfrey... I think I could convince her to allow it." Hermione was fighting back a grin at the possibility of Harry staying. "I'll ask her – be right back." She turned and walked down the rows of beds, seeking the office at the far end of the wing.

Harry's eyes again dropped to Hermione's skirt. The tail was rigid and no longer swishing about. It raised the hem of the skirt a bit and revealed an area of enticing cream-colored flesh he had never seen before. It dawned on him that Hermione's appearance had changed since last year - her hips had flared out a bit and she seemed more... curvy. More feminine.

Being in a tower full of teenage wizards, Harry had heard girls' looks being discussed before. He wondered why he had never heard Hermione's name brought up. She was certainly pretty – _am I supposed to think that?_ Regardless, she was quite cute. He often had odd dreams wherein he would be flying with Hermione, guiding the broom as she clung to him from behind. Harry knew Hermione didn't like flying, but the dreams never failed to put him in a good mood. And she wasn't annoying and strange like some girls he knew in passing - the ones who would talk about nothing at all for hours on end. She was the smartest person he knew, and she never let him flounder in his classes. She helped him with so much. He really didn't know what he'd do without her. He was startled to realize that the thought of being at Hogwarts without Hermione actually scared him.

Harry sat down on "his" bed. Over the summer, he thought he'd missed Hogwarts, but when he first saw her again, he realized he'd really missed Hermione. When he really thought about it, Hermione cared about him more than anyone else he could think of. Likewise, when he tried to think of someone he liked better than her, he came up short. Ron was alright, but, as he had recently proven, he was the sort of bloke who'd leave you in a dingy bathroom while he tended to his wardrobe malfunction. Harry decided he would have to let Hermione know how much he appreciated her.

Hermione found Harry perched on the edge of the bed, staring pensively at the floor. She approached with a bounce in her step, one hand holding her tail to keep it from twitching about and lifting her skirt, the other clutching a bundle of cloth to her chest.

"You can stay." She said with a grin, fighting to keep the excitement out of her voice. It wouldn't do to scare Harry off by acting strangely. She couldn't afford to make him uncomfortable.

Harry's head snapped up at the words, and since he was still seated, his eyes landed on the errant tail clutched in her fist. He couldn't hold back any longer, he had to ask the question. "Can you control the... the tail?" He had almost said 'your tail,' but thought better of it.

Hermione let out a nervous laugh and carefully sat next to him on the bed, placing the bundle Harry now recognized as pajamas between them. Her skirt pooled around her and the tail lay splayed over the blankets, sweeping a slow arc over the bed. "I think if I concentrate, I can, but it's a bit like fidgeting or yawning – it's involuntary. It moves quite a lot, but I think it depends on how I'm feeling."

"Can you really hear better?" Harry asked, eyeing the furry, cinnamon-colored ears pushing up through her kinky hair.

"Yes, I believe so. Can you hear Madame Pomfrey dictating in her office?" Harry shook his head. "I can. She's making notes about me for tomorrow."

"Wow." Harry mumbled. "So... how do you feel about all this?" He asked trepidatiously.

Hermione gave an unladylike snort. "Alright, I suppose – considering."

"Is any of it bothering you much, besides just being there? I mean..." He trailed off.

"I think I know what you mean." She let out a thoughtful sigh. "It's really just the tail and ears that people would notice, and I can hide those. I think I could live with it. Glamour charms for the eyes are quite common, so I'm not concerned about that. The same goes for teeth – it shouldn't be too hard to conceal at all."

"It's a shame you'll have to hide the ears, they are quite fetching." Harry replied, looking into her slitted eyes and grinning.

Hermione giggled a bit. 'That doesn't happen often.' Harry thought. "I'm glad you think so. You'll probably be one of the few who gets to see them." She smiled, unintentionally baring her new teeth. Absently, she pawed at her feline ears. She paused, her eyes widening in surprise. "Ooh, Harry they're soft! Touch them!" Giving him no time to protest, she took one of his hands and brought it to her head. Hesitantly, Harry began to scratch them.

"Oh." That was all Hermione said before her eyes fluttered closed. The corners of her mouth lifted to a lazy smile and she tilted her head toward Harry to offer him better access.

Harry, for his part, was a bit lost. Though his experience with touch was mostly limited to beatings courtesy of his cousin, he'd had some contact with Hermione before. However, this did not save him from the nervousness that struck him as soon as she had grasped his hand. _This is different._ He fought to keep his hand from shaking as he carefully stroked the soft, furry ears perched atop her head. He was consoled somewhat by the fact that she could not see how nervous he was – her eyes were still closed.

Hermione was quite content. She hadn't felt this good in quite some time, and silently congratulated herself on her months of work getting Harry accustomed to her touch. For a moment, she lost herself in the sensation of his knuckles grazing the base of her ears. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, a low rumbling seemed to climb from the base of her stomach, through her chest and finally to her throat. She was purring. 'Yes,' she thought. 'Little touches here and there, grabbing him when I'm startled, leaning into him a bit when it's cold. It looks as if it's worked. He's even stopped shaking.'

Slowly, to give him some warning, Hermione rested her cheek on his shoulder. Trying to stifle the sound of her breath, she inhaled the young wizard's scent. He smelled of some sort of spice and broom polish. Irresistible.

"That's quite nice." Hermione said, raising her head from his shoulder a bit so that she could speak. She rested her head again, letting out a contented sigh.

Harry was in a daze. Hermione's hair smelled fantastic – ancient books, pumpkin and flowers – and the nervousness he felt at being so close to her was rapidly being replaced by something he'd never felt before. It wasn't as if the act of scratching and providing a shoulder was tiring, but some force was weighing on his eyelids and making him feel as though he were full of lead. That same force saw to it that his cheek was soon resting against Hermione's head. All the while, he continued scratching her into oblivion.

"It's very relaxing." Hermione murmured. "I'm afraid it will put me to sleep." She said with a faint, slightly morose smile.

Harry, too, was fighting to keep upright. In his trance-like state, he could think only of the moment and how to prolong it. "We could lie down and I'll keep scratching until you fall asleep." He suggested quietly.

Hermione mumbled her sleepy assent. She lowered herself onto her right side while Harry scooted back a bit and did the same. He resumed his work on the ears protruding from Hermione's mass of bushy hair. To the best two-thirds of the Golden Trio, it seemed hours had passed since they had discovered their new pastime, though in reality it couldn't have been more than ten minutes.

They fell asleep that way, the strokes coming to a gradual halt, the shared warmth sapping their consciousness until their minds fell blank. At one point, Harry felt Hermione shiver and unconsciously move into him; Harry frowned in his sleep, his accidental magic banishing the blanket from beneath them to reappear over them.

Madame Pomfrey's occupants-per-bed monitoring charm had alerted her, prompting her to check that the anti-lust ward was still in place. It was. This was the first time she'd had reason to check it in many years. The last instance she could remember involved another bright witch and her messy-haired beau. Of course, with James and Lily, it had taken much longer. There hadn't been a staff betting pool on their romantic lives until sixth year. Harry and Hermione's had been started up last week with McGonagall's bet that they would be seen holding hands before the spring of their third year.

The healer shook her head and stifled a laugh at the silliness of it all. _If only Minerva's bet had specified they'd be sharing a bed!_

Meanwhile, in a quaint, slightly squalid cabin bordering Hogwarts' Forbidden Forest, Rubeus Hagrid's wager senses were tingling. He suddenly felt that, for a reason he couldn't quite remember, Professor Flitwick owed him a galleon.

* * *

Harry was flying. It was the same dream he'd had time after time, but with one minor change – rather than feeling Hermione cling to him from behind, she was in front of him on the broom. His arms reached past her slender waist to control their journey. His mind had also updated dream-Hermione to reflect her new appearance. The feline ears were evident as he peered over her head to see where they were going. When their flight leveled out after a long dive, Harry found that he could feel a jittery rumbling through Hermione's back. Again, she seemed to be purring.

Harry felt as though the scenario had never been done justice in his past dreams. The Hermione in his arms felt more real, impossibly solid and warm. The scent of her hair saturated the chill wind whipping past them, making him wish for a giant's lungs – anything to let him take it all in and keep it.

Harry felt something tickle his chin. Hermione's tail swished back and forth, lightly touching him with every pass. She had turned her head to observe him with an impish smile. Harry looked down to find they were hovering mere feet above the ground. This was another change – usually in these dreams, Harry controlled the flight and Hermione was along for the ride. It appeared that dream-Hermione had taken some measure of control. When he looked up again, he was surprised to find that the young witch was now facing him on the broom, wearing one of her muggle shirts and her school skirt.

The broom fell away from them. Harry was dimly aware of his feet being planted once more on solid ground. Hermione's face was inches from his. The impish smile had been replaced by something he couldn't name. It was soft, but somehow also quite serious. It was timid - some of dream-Hermione's confidence had faltered. He wanted her to be smiling again. He never wanted to see her do anything else. She closed her eyes and bent her head forward, leaning into him. She rubbed her cheek against his, and after a suitable interval, fixed that same cheek with a gentle but firm kiss. Suddenly he and Hermione were on the grass, she in his arms, facing away from him. Again, every breath was essence of Hermione, and again, Harry could feel a fluffy tail tickle his chin.

* * *

Harry woke slowly, feeling warmer and more content than he could ever remember being. He inhaled deeply and released a sigh. Then, his eyes shot wide open.

Bushy brown hair. He performed a limb check. Wiggling his fingers, he found that his right hand was entangled in hair and his left was resting on a series of warm curves he dared not explore. They had fallen asleep together. _Did anyone see us?_

He looked around, noticing dim light throughout the ward. It was before the time he would normally wake up. Breakfast was probably not quite being served in the Great Hall. He started to take a deep breath to calm himself, caught an intoxicating whiff of the young witch's perfume, thought better of it, and began breathing through his mouth to prevent himself from passing out.

At the other end of the wing, Madam Pomfrey pocketed her wand and eased her office door shut with a satisfied smile. Her discreet – and well-aimed, if she was perfectly honest – _ennervate_ had done its job. Harry was awake with time to take stock of the situation before they were discovered. She would give him a few minutes to come up with something and then offer some direction if he hadn't moved.

While Harry's mind churned and Pomfrey hummed a happy tune, Hermione was in another place. She was having a recurring dream of her own, and, much like the dream from which Harry had just returned, this one was especially vivid.

* * *

Hermione was reading _Hogwarts, a History_ under a big tree by the Black Lake. Clad in an old pair of jeans and a sweater, she was truly comfortable and at peace. Usually in these dreams Harry would be lounging under the tree next to her. Sometimes he would sleep, back against the trunk of the tree, looking quite peaceful and cute. Other times he would practice his flying, rising to heights that Hermione pretended for his sake did not worry her and then diving to the ground, tearing past with enough speed to rustle the pages of her book, laughing the whole way.

This time, though, she could not immediately find him. He wasn't in the sky. He wasn't next to her. Then, as she returned to the book, brow furrowed with worry, she noticed the extra set of arms resting over her stomach and in her lap. Harry was holding her. She was nestled between his legs, leaning into his wiry frame. She smiled the same secret smile she allowed herself on the first day of every term when no one was looking. She scooted back, trying to wrap herself up in as much of Harry as she could.

After it seemed a long time had passed, Harry's hands moved over her stomach, spreading his fingers to transfer unbelievable heat through her jumper to her skin. His fingers brushed the wire of her bra over her sweater. He balled his hand up and snaked his arm around her, pulling her just a bit closer. She could hear him inhale deeply from somewhere in her bushy locks before letting out a slow, hot breath on the back of her neck. A tingly warmth pooled low in Hermione's groin, and she felt her face flush. "Harry..." She whispered, and as she turned to face the handsome wizard, planning to take him by the collar and kiss him, the two were suddenly torn away from the tree and deposited in a hospital bed. Rather abruptly, Hermione found herself staring into the emerald green eyes of her best friend. They were lying face-to-face in a hospital bed, and it wasn't a dream.


	2. Chapter 2

**If you like this story, check out my other pen-name, tli. You can find a link in my author favorites.**

Chapter 2

What Hermione saw in those eyes was a mixture of panic and something else she couldn't identify. Seeking to put Harry at ease, she placed a finger to her lips, signaling for silence. "Has Madame Pomfrey come in yet?" She whispered. Harry shook his head. "That's probably good." She let out a small sigh of relief and gave Harry a shy smile. "I'm glad you stayed. I slept very well. I hope I didn't snore or anything."

"You did purr a bit." Harry said, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

Hermione smirked and lightly slapped his shoulder. "Prat. We should probably get up."

"Yeah." Harry mumbled, slowly raising himself to a sitting position and cleaning his glasses on his shirt.

Hermione stood up and stretched luxuriously. That was the best night of sleep she'd had in quite some time. She almost couldn't believe she and Harry had slept together. She was feeling a bit giddy over the whole thing. She closed her eyes and inhaled. Harry's scent was coming from her own body - it had rubbed off on her clothes.

Harry put his glasses back on just in time to appreciate them more than ever before. When his eyes refocused, he was treated to the glorious sight of Hermione stretching. The stretching was, in itself, wonderful, but what made the spectacle truly grand was the total lack of underwear. As Hermione reached for the sky, her skirt rode up, and with some help from her tail, revealed all of her smooth, creamy legs and a few inches of her bum. Harry briefly considered petrifying her that way so that future generations could gaze upon a consummate beauty to which all others would be compared and found wanting.

The plan was quickly forgotten when Hermione's hand flew to the hem of her skirt, pulling it down as she whirled around to face him. Instantly, Harry looked ashamed. She would hate him - she would think he was just a stupid letch and she'd never be able to trust him again. But if that was true, why would she be smiling?

"See something you like, Harry?" Hermione giggled. While she didn't look angry, she was blushing furiously. Seeing his jaw work soundlessly, she decided to explain. "I can't wear knickers with a tail – they don't fit anymore. I'm going to ask Professor McGonagall about making some special ones."

"I'm sorry, I just looked up and-" Harry was mumbling apologies and staring at the floor.

"Harry. It's alright. I'm not angry with you. But... do you really think I'm that pretty?"

"Of course." Harry blurted out. "You're really amazing, Hermione. Beautiful."

"I'm very flattered, Harry. It means a lot to hear that from you." Hermione rubbed her eyes and set to work putting her shoes back on, attempting to take a seat on the bed and stopping because she had been about to sit on her tail. As she let out a sniff of frustration and started to stand up again, Harry reached out and ran his hand under her, straightening it out in one fluid motion. She plopped down on the bed with wide eyes. "That really tickles. I suppose my tail is quite sensitive." What she neglected to say for fear of inducing further guilt in her friend was that the stroke had felt _very_ good. Almost as if someone was petting her bare bum. If he only thought it tickled... perhaps he'd do it more often?

Shoes on, Hermione stood and pointed her wand at Harry, who feared that she was exacting surprise vengeance for his peek at her bum and snapped his eyes shut, bracing himself for the worst.

Nothing happened, as far as he could tell. He tentatively opened his eyes, thinking perhaps the spell to turn him inside-out might have a horribly long incantation. Instead of calculated rage, the look on Hermione's face was one of amusement. She giggled as she spoke. "Honestly, Harry. It was just a charm to de-wrinkle clothes." She shook her head, still grinning, and performed the charm on herself.

The doors of the hospital wing opened to admit Professor McGonagall, who strode purposefully down the rows of beds to her favorite student, Hermione Granger. One look at the gargantuan point indexes kept at the foot of the House Cup hourglasses told her that no one earned more points for Gryffindor House than Hermione. She was studious, polite, she respected the rules, and really applied herself to getting as much out of Hogwarts as she could. When she had received a fire call from Poppy the night before, she had been extremely worried about the charming young bookworm, nearly dashing off to see her the moment she heard. Poppy convinced her, however, that she should wait until morning. She and Mr. Potter were apparently very tired. _Did Potter spend the night in the hospital wing as well?_ She would have to start asking the portraits to keep a lookout for hand-holding.

"Good morning Miss Granger, Mr. Potter. Madame Pomfrey informs me that you have had an odd reaction to some potion or spell." In this private situation, and especially with such a fine student, she decided to turn her usual intensity down and be a bit more grandmotherly. "Would you allow me to examine you to see if I can reverse the effects?"

"Yes, Professor. Madame Pomfrey said you were better qualified, being a cat animagus. Do I need to do anything?"

"No, dear. Just stand still and try to clear your mind." Hermione closed her eyes, and, somewhat amusingly, furrowed her brow in concentration. _Hermione with a clear mind – that's funny._ Harry thought. He looked on with concern as McGonagall leveled her wand at Hermione and muttered several long incantations that he'd never heard before.

Hermione remained unchanged. "Miss Granger, you appear as an animagus to the animagus detection spell, though the result is... atypical." Hermione opened her eyes. "I would like to try a spell which is used to force animagi into their human forms. It can be an uncomfortable process. Would you like to be asleep for it?"

Hermione chewed her bottom lip and nodded.

"Very well, then." The older woman gave a tight-lipped smile. "Please lie down and I'll have Poppy administer a small amount of sleeping draught – just enough for a few minutes. Then I'll cast the spell and see if your feline features disappear." With that, McGonagall made her way to Pomfrey's office to request the potion.

Hermione lay down on the bed she had shared with Harry and nervously folded her hands over her stomach. Harry slowly approached Hermione, his eyes filled with concern. The young witch reached out to her friend and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze which he returned. They let their hands rest on the bed, still linked. Harry finally spoke. "Are you scared?"

Hermione stared at the ceiling and nodded. Harry gave her hand another squeeze. She cocked her head and looked up at him, smiling weakly.

"Twenty points to Gryffindor, Mr. Potter." They had not noticed McGonagall's return. "For taking care of a housemate and being a good friend." _Also for winning me ten galleons._ She finished in her mind. _I'll have to corner Pince when I get a chance. _The normally stern old woman regarded them both with a fond smile. She handed Hermione a dropper. "Please squeeze the entire contents into your mouth and swallow, Miss Granger."

Hermione did as she was told, and as soon as she swallowed, her eyes fluttered shut. McGonagall again pointed her wand at Hermione and cast a spell. They waited. Nothing happened.

Hermione still had cat ears poking out of her bushy hair, a tail still protruded from her skirt, and her fangs were still visible. Harry rubbed his thumb over Hermione's hand. He looked up at his head of house. "What does it mean? Is it all permanent?"

McGonagall's mouth returned to its normal shape: a thin line. She spoke softly. "I'm not sure, Harry."

* * *

In her own private world, Hermione was reeling. Her lips were mashed against Harry Potter's, and her whole world was messy black hair and green eyes. Harry's touches and scent assaulted Hermione's senses, clouds of holly wood and broom polish reducing her to a syrupy puddle while rough but gentle hands roamed her body as if trying to hold her together. Her head was spinning and it was nearly impossible to tell where she ended and Harry began. She found she didn't mind it one bit. Then, Harry's face pulled back, taking its wonderful warmth away, drawing a little whine from her throat. He looked concerned. His eyes bored right into hers, and she felt him squeeze her hand. "Wake up, Hermione."

* * *

Harry and Hermione made their way from the hospital wing to the great hall for breakfast, a palpable anxiety hanging between the two of them. After Hermione had awoken – rather flushed – from her potion-induced sleep, Professor McGonagall had informed her that the spell hadn't worked.

_"I'm afraid your body did not react as a transformed animagus's would. This simply means that your condition cannot be treated by suppression of the animagus trait; it does NOT mean that we are out of ideas. If you'll excuse me for a moment, I should like to speak with Madame Pomfrey about other possible treatments." Hermione gave a meek nod. With that, McGonagall marched to the end of the wing and entered the matron's office._

_Harry and Hermione had been unconsciously drifting closer together until Harry was seated on the bed, holding his frightened friend in a tight embrace. Hermione's words were punctuated with sniffles, and her breathing was slightly ragged. "I might have to go home to my parents like this, Harry. What would I tell them?"_

_Harry slowly rocked her back and forth, as he had seen his Aunt Petunia do for Dudley whenever he destroyed a favorite toy. "It's OK, Mione. Madame Pomfrey has been here longer than some of the professors. They'll think of something." He stroked her ears, seeking to calm her down. Anything to hear her purr again. "Besides, it's not as if you aren't still cute." Hermione hiccuped out a weak laugh. _

_McGonagall cleared her throat, announcing her return. "Miss Granger, we would like for you to report back here immediately after dinner tomorrow night." Hermione nodded slowly. "Another possible treatment will be ready then. For the time being, please allow me to re-touch your glamours so that they will last you through the day. With your permission, Professor Flitwick will keep you after Charms and re-apply them so that they last through the night as well. His glamours will hold much better than mine." She drew her wand. "Please hold still and stare straight ahead."_

* * *

Harry and Hermione took their seats at the Gryffindor table next to Ron, who was actually _stalking_ his food. Without so much as a "good morning" or a "great to see you're alive, Herms," Ron reached over Neville's plate and speared a helpless sausage with his fork. In one forceful, though not at all graceful motion, he wrapped the sausage in a slice of bread and held it down as though he fully expected it to escape. Harry and Hermione watched with perverse curiosity as Ron brought his face down to plate-level, lower, lower, and then struck, delivering a death-bite to the neck of the quite dead and neckless sausage. He straightened up and chewed with an insufferably smug grin.

Hermione slowly shook her head, bleak prognosis momentarily forgotten. Harry just stared at his plate, wondering if you could inhumanely kill something that was already dead. Not even Dudley had been this bad. This little act merely told anyone who was watching that Ron was full. If he was well and truly full, he would entertain himself with the food, theoretically burning some of it off in the process. Harry grabbed some toast.

Ron spoke around a wad of shredded sausage, his words muffled by pieces of pig that had met one another for the first time in death. "Oy Harry, you get up early this morning?"

Harry tried to avert his eyes from Ron's gaping maw as he replied. "Er, yeah. Went to get Hermione from the hospital wing." Hermione sent him a pleading look. He nodded ever so slightly. There was no reason to tell Ron the truth. _Plenty of reasons not to, in fact._ "Madame Pomfrey's set her right. Bad reaction to the polyjuice."

Ron, being Ron, nodded and made no further inquiry. "Great news, that. I need some help with the transfiguration essay."

"Isn't that due today?" Hermione asked incredulously.

Ron stared at the charmed ceiling of the Great Hall in concentration. One could almost see the misshapen cogs turn, lubricated by grease, yet clogged with hash browns. "Yeah. Got a few minutes then, have I?"


	3. Chapter 3

**If you like this story, check out my other pen-name, tli. You can find a link in my author favorites.**

Chapter 3

The first lesson of the day was Transfiguration, for which Ron turned in a few sentences written in the margin of that morning's Daily Prophet. McGonagall simply closed her eyes upon seeing it - one could only assume she was silently counting to ten. Hermione's glamours held up, though her confidence often wavered. Where her hand would normally be the first in the air, today she hesitated to draw any attention to herself. She only volunteered answers when the rest of the class tried and failed to give McGonagall a completely correct response. It even took her longer than usual to master the day's spell – she had turned her hedgehog into a back massager only moments before Harry managed it himself.

As class was dismissed, McGonagall summoned the back massagers and prickly, half-transformed abominations back into a box on her desk. Waving her wand over the full box, she returned the creatures to their normal spiky state. She then pulled a lid from beneath her desk and capped the box, sealing the quivering mass of spines away for further abuse. For roughly the fifth time since waking up, Harry mused that magic was strange.

As Harry and Hermione made to leave with the rest of the class, McGonagall held them back. "Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, if I could speak with you for a moment." The two paused in front of the professor's desk. With a wave of her wand, the door of the classroom closed and locked itself. Another flick, and the door had been silenced. "Hermione, how are you feeling?"

"Alright, ma'am." Hermione replied. "Are the glamours holding up?"

McGonagall peered at her intently. Without thinking, Harry also stared, trying to find a gap in her disguise. Hermione blushed, secretly relishing such intense attention from her green-eyed obsession. McGonagall spoke, prompting Harry to shake his head and look around the room nervously. "Yes, I believe they are still at full strength. They should make it through your charms class just fine. Off you go, then. If you have any problems, go to the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey will call me if she can't help you."

Hermione smiled her gratitude. "Thank you, Professor."

* * *

Defense against the Dark Arts was a huge waste of time, as usual. Lockhart, the great stupid ponce, prattled on and on about hair care products and the importance of a dazzling smile in the face of formulaic danger.

Seamus Finnegan had once argued that most of Lockhart's adventures closely followed the pattern of most Bruce Willis movies, but with magic and nundus instead of terrorists and nuclear devices. Hermione had looked as if she was about to protest, but then stared at the ceiling for a moment in thought. She then nodded sagely, mumbling "he's right" while Seamus let out a triumphant laugh and waved a finger in her direction, daring anyone to question the muggleborn genius's verdict.

The girls (except for Hermione) listened to Lockhart's foolishness with rapt attention, taking more notes than they ever had before. They would gasp when Lockhart's tale reached its action-packed climax, and sigh in relief when he predictably and vaguely vanquished the threat. Harry and Hermione spent the lesson reading some second-year DADA notes handed down from older students while Ron stared slack-jawed into space.

Lunch was uneventful other than Snape giving Ron a detention for "inappropriate food handling." Harry and Hermione had courteously nodded in agreement while Ron called the greasy, hook-nosed man-bat lots of childish names under his breath, though they could actually see where Snape was coming from on this one. To be fair, Ron _had_ put on a very poor puppet show using lamb and rolls. Hermione had likened it to a Greek tragedy. Harry was almost certain that was a valid comparison on several levels, considering he was using lamb.

Harry had also cornered Seamus and paid him three sickles to argue about quidditch with Ron until after classes were over for the day. He needed to partner with Hermione for their other lessons, and that necessitated throwing someone at Ron to keep him busy.

* * *

Walking out of charms class with an awed Harry in tow, Hermione was nearly incoherent with excitement over what she'd learned. The two had stayed after class, Ron's argument with Seamus carrying him out the door just as planned. Tiny Professor Flitwick had imbued a quill to recharge her glamours, asking that she stop after class at least once a week for him to renew the quill's enchantment. He'd done much more than keep Hermione's disguise up, though. He'd taught them a number of charms to keep Hermione's secret safe. Hermione had quivered with delight upon learning the charm to silence an area. She had done a discreet little jig when she had mastered the _muffiliato_ spell – one that allowed for private conversations in public places. Hermione had also managed her first piece of mind magic – a personal notice-me-not charm in case she had to go without her glamours. She was a happy witch, and Harry was pleased to see her spirits lifted.

After charms, the three headed to potions class for their daily abuse. In order to bolster what Hermione had taken to calling the "contamination defense," the brainy young witch spent a good portion of the lesson fervently looking for and recording health and safety violations in the potions classroom. The list ranged from such items as "no cleaning of surfaces between ingredient preparations" to "flammable ingredients heated over open flame" to "Neville, Ron, Crabbe, Goyle, and Snape." After Snape had short-changed all the Gryffindors on their grades for the day, they left the dungeon, Hermione lingering to make one last note: "Instructor's hair not tied back, also possibly coated in flammable material."

With classes finally finished for the day, Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way back to Gryffindor tower. Ron went straight to lounging while whining about the homework that precluded sane people from lounging. Harry and Hermione found floor space by the fire, where the crackling and hissing of the logs might provide some excuse for their conversation being inaudible.

Harry did his best to make Hermione laugh – no small feat, given the situation and the girl – realizing that he loved nothing more than to hear her giggle or shout with false indignation. They made light of her tail and ears, they cooked up wild theories on what Ron would do if her ever saw her fangs, and they made fun of Ron for being himself. Though they had spent evenings similarly occupied before, Harry knew that somehow this one would stand out in his memory: Hermione nervously smiling while he tried to see through the glamour, squeaking in surprise when, after minutes of listening for it swishing on the carpet, Harry managed to catch her tail. Very suddenly, it seemed, everyone was going to the Great Hall for dinner.

Again, Ron managed to outdo himself. It really didn't help that they were having duck and that Ron had been moaning all week about having to wait until fourth year to learn the summoning charm. Anyone could put two and two together and conclude that the evening meal would be one to remember, or obliviate, depending on how badly the whole thing turned out.

Ron's face was a mask of intense concentration – a phenomenon that could only be observed when food was involved. He had his wand pointed at the Slytherin table and, assuming incorrectly that one must point _directly_ at the object being summoned, had fashioned a crude wand stabilizer out of salt shakers and honey. Harry made a mental note never to borrow Ron's wand without washing it first.

The makeshift stabilizer and the painstaking way in which he took aim was not the most fascinating aspect of the show. Not at all. After he was satisfied with the trajectory of his wand, he began to cluck. Quietly. Deliberately. He appeared to be having a serious conversation with Malfoy's duck from afar. For a moment, the rational part of Harry's brain stepped in. "But ducks don't cluck!" He blurted.

Hermione let out another unladylike snort and kneaded her forehead with her palm.

"They quack." Harry muttered sulkily.

Ron seamlessly transitioned to quacking.

* * *

After dinner, Harry and Hermione left Ron to his detention, making their way to the hospital wing. As they entered, Madame Pomfrey welcomed them and signaled for them to take a seat. It seemed as night had fallen, the two friends had gotten cozier. _Do they only make strides like this at night? _Poppy wondered.

Professor McGonagall emerged from the matron's office carrying a flask of something that looked and smelled unspeakably foul. If mud could vomit dead things, it would be very much like this. Hermione knew it well. She had brewed it in a toilet, after all – like so much prison wine. McGonagall sat the flask on the nightstand next to the bed the two students had chosen. _The one they shared last night?_ Minerva wondered to herself.

"Hermione, Madame Pomfrey and I have had one additional idea for treatment. It is purely experimental and should not have any negative side-effects. Since your issues are polyjuice-related, we theorize that polyjuice potion made with a hair from before the incident should restore you to your original body, if only for an hour. If we are lucky, it will last longer or perhaps indefinitely." The older woman favored Hermione with a thin, hopeful smile.

Madame Pomfrey took over the explanation. "We retrieved a hair from your dormitory that contains genetic material from before your transformation." She withdrew a glass vial from her robes. "With your permission, we'd like you to try the polyjuice."

Harry had been squeezing Hermione's hand without realizing it, though when he finally did notice, he found that Hermione had been squeezing back. Hermione nodded, taking a long, kinky hair from the proffered vial. After she dropped the hair in the flask, its contents changed from a sickly yellowish brown to a slightly more appealing woody brown. Another moment and Hermione was choking down the viscous goop with gusto. Harry saw his head of house and primary physician exchange impressed glances.

Harry felt a dull ache in his stomach as he watched Hermione wince in pain. He had resolved never to take polyjuice again after the awful feeling of transformation, but Hermione didn't have a choice.

After a few seconds, Hermione's pain subsided. She looked a bit weary, but he had noticed no other change. The glamours were still in place. Tentatively, she felt around on her head. "The ears are gone!" she exclaimed. She reached into her school bag and, pulling out a quill, she prepared to cancel Professor Flitwick's glamours. She placed the tip of her wand to the feather and whispered _finite._ She looked up at Harry and the two older women, the hope in her expression clearly shining through. Her pupils were round again.

* * *

After an initial period of celebration during which Hermione had repeatedly run her hands through her hair and over her bottom, the waiting began. Would Hermione's fully human form stick past an hour? Harry and Hermione quietly did their homework, seated side by side on the hospital bed. The textbook lay open on Harry's lap while a writing board covered Hermione's.

Harry was finding it rather difficult to concentrate. He was very close to Hermione, and her scent and warmth were diverting his attention from studying. He would lapse into fantasy, grabbing dream-Hermione by the waist and pulling her close, scratching a purr out of her and making her smile. Then, he would suddenly snap back to reality, look down at the page and realize he had no idea what he had been reading. He was terrified (for no good reason) that Hermione would ask him a question about the text or if he was finished with the page.

Hermione, though, was justifiably terrified for the same reason. It wasn't like Harry to go this long without asking a question. _Is_ _something bothering him?_ She too was having trouble focusing on the task at hand. Having Harry so close was making her lightheaded and a bit dizzy. She made sure their legs were touching, but didn't apply too much pressure, afraid it would make him move. Through her peripheral vision, she saw Harry's face. It was mere inches from her own. She could turn her head and press her lips to his cheek. Privately, she thought she deserved some sort of willpower award for not kissing Harry whenever a chance appeared. It marked the fourth time that day she had thought of kissing him. The other three had happened in the dungeons and at lunch.

Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall watched from the opposite end of the wing, tittering at the display of adolescent awkwardness. Their body language spoke of timid affection - each wanted to reach out to the other but was unwilling to take the risk. Each was nervous. They hadn't turned a page in twenty minutes.

Suddenly, Madame Pomfrey looked at her watch and sprang up, striding toward Harry and Hermione. "Miss Granger, the hour is nearly up. I'd prefer that you be lying down in case you transform." Hermione's eyes widened. While she had been sitting with Harry, she had completely forgotten that she was waiting to see what the final result of the polyjuice restoration would be.

Harry stood up quickly, marking their page with fumbling hands and taking the papers from Hermione's lap. Hermione smiled at him anxiously. She laid back and unconsciously reached out for Harry's hand. She found it quickly – her green-eyed companion had gently taken her hand as soon as her head hit the pillow. The brightest witch in Hogwarts clenched her eyes shut, and her muscles tensed. Harry bit his tongue to keep himself in check while he watched his best friend suffer. Hermione curled up into a ball and squeezed Harry's hand hard.

Her feline features were back.

* * *

Professor McGonagall had sent her favorite student and the bravest boy in Gryffindor house back to their dorms after re-activating Professor Flitwick's glamour quill. Harry and Hermione returned to the common room, settling down in a corner and casting _muffiliato_ to guard their conversation. Harry was concerned. Hermione's reassuring smiles were watery. Hermione leaned into Harry's shoulder as the common room emptied out due to the lateness of the hour. As Harry's eyelids began to feel heavy, he suggested that it might be time to rest.

Harry stood, reaching down for Hermione's hand to help her up. Harry was probably the only boy in the castle whose chivalry Hermione would accept. She took his hand and allowed him to pull her up, swaying slightly on the spot and leaning into him. She giggled and sighed. "Thanks, Harry." Harry fought hard not to kiss her right there. Hermione melted into his chest and nearly dozed off on her feet. They both savored the scant few seconds of the embrace, using fatigue as a cover to prolong it.

Still holding Hermione's hand, Harry led her toward the dormitory stairs. The common room appeared to be completely deserted. The drowsy duo shuffled onward, letting their hands separate only at the last moment.

Hermione slowly climbed the stairs that would take her to her dorm - away from Harry. She had been nestled comfortably against his chest only a moment earlier. She suddenly felt very, very alone. Was there really a good reason to sleep in her dorm with the girls she barely knew? Her sleep-deprived mind turned the question over. No, there was no reason to sleep alone when she could be keeping a green-eyed prince warm. She turned back to catch her dream before he got away.

As Harry made his way up the staircase to the boys' dormitories, he heard the click of a feminine stride on the steps behind him. It could only be Hermione – the common room had been empty. He came to a stop and waited for her to catch up to him. She came into view, slightly out of breath, and looking a bit panicked.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, closing the distance between them to a couple of steps and looking into her wide, doubt-filled eyes.

When she was actually there in front of Harry, she found that much of her confidence had left her. "Harry... do you think - no, it's silly. I should just try to sleep."

"Do I think what? Are you alright?" He probed, concerned by the nervousness in her voice.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, it's just..." She couldn't ask him directly. "It was nice, last night, wasn't it?" She cocked her head to the side, silently pleading for his agreement. "Not sleeping alone, I mean. I'm... still a bit scared, to be honest. It's probably silly, but I was thinking of-"

Harry stopped her. "Do you want to..." How could he word it safely? "We could sleep in my bed."

"Oh, could we? That would be – I know I'd feel much better and I could wake up early enough to get back to my dorm before Ron and the others wake up-" She was rambling again.

Harry put up his hands and nodded vigorously, agreeing to whatever she was in the process of saying. They were burning moonlight and he was certain he looked forward to sharing a bed far more than she did. "Go and get your night clothes. You know which bed is mine, right?" She nodded. "Alright then, I'll only be a couple of minutes changing. Just get in if I'm not finished, yeah?"

"Right." She said, and descended back to the common room, excitement and anxiety making her a bit more alert.

Harry turned and continued up the stairs, his pulse racing and palms sweating. She wanted to share a bed again. This time they would be better prepared. They could take precautions against being found so that they could sleep soundly. Harry found himself wishing that he studied far ahead like Hermione; there were high-level spells that could help with this sort of thing. He could only hope that she happened to know them.

As he went through the motions of changing into his pajamas, he realized that the foot of his bed was a mess. Seeking to maintain the illusion that he would be tolerable to live with, he performed the "half-assed packing charm," which gathered his belongings up into a big lump and deposited them in his trunk. As swaths of clothing and parchment were haphazardly stuffed into his trunk by lazy, rough magic, his eyes alighted on a pair of socks struggling to find a vacancy in the crowded chest. It suddenly occurred to him that he might not smell too pleasant. Stealing soundlessly into the bathroom in his pajamas, he performed a cleaning charm on himself (not a substitute for a shower, but it would have to do) and washed his face, hoping to imbue himself with whichever scent Hermione had liked so much.

* * *

Hermione, meanwhile, was experiencing her own anxiety. She stood in front of the standard-issue full-length mirror next to her bed, leveling a hard stare at her bushy mane. Pigtails didn't work. The results of a ponytail were laughable. There was no time to do anything else with it. She gave up on the hair.

_What should I wear?_ An old pullover wouldn't do. Pajamas were essentially ruled out due to her tail. That left the more traditional slip sort of nightgown. _Should I wear a bra?_ No. She'd be more comfortable without it, and she trusted Harry. Hermione took a brilliant white silk slip and a pair of knickers from her trunk and padded into the bathroom, where she stripped out of her school uniform and brushed her teeth with the vigor of one who lives with dentists. As she brushed, she looked herself over.

'Molars.' Her skin was pale, though still healthy-looking. She did get some sun during the summer holidays, but she always took care to protect herself from it, knowing the risks of overexposure. Her eye glamours had returned her cinnamon rings, and she felt that of all the glamours, it would be the one she didn't drop when she was alone or with Harry. Slitted eyes were just too unsettling. Her figure was developing nicely, as Parvati and Lavender had pointed out on the first day of term ("You have a _shape,_ Hermione! You look brilliant!"). Her waist gently flared into shapely hips, and her bum was firm from the stairmaster known as Hogwarts castle. Granted, it had a tail now - sort of a necktie for her rear. If she was perfectly honest, she thought it was rather cute. Despite the occasional balance issue, she was also pleased with her progress in the chest department, and felt she was on track for a large B or a small C. Hopefully enough to fill Harry's hands but not enough to draw stares. For now, they were in proportion to her petite frame.

'Incisors and canines.' Hermione knew that Harry would be able to choose from the majority of Hogwarts' female population if he decided to. Being the brightest witch of her age, Hermione also knew that even if some girl was throwing herself at him, Harry would never be with a girl who only wanted him for his fame. Despite her doubts and worries about being too plain for Harry, she held out hope. When she inventoried the girls who knew Harry the boy as opposed to Harry the myth, the list was short. Ginny clearly hero-worshipped him, so that ruled her out. Harry never really spoke to any other girl that Hermione knew of, and she went to great pains to maintain her advantage in that area. She had been more careful about nagging and bossy behavior, trying as hard as she could to keep Harry close and happy. Whenever she was feeling down about something, she would remind herself that she was the most important girl in Harry's life, and it would usually cheer her up immensely.

'Rinse.' Hermione divested herself of a frothy load of toothpaste, rinsed her mouth, and reached for the knickers she had planned to wear. Her hand froze short of its goal. The addition of a tail to her anatomy had made half her unmentionables obsolete, and though McGonagall had transfigured the pair of knickers she'd been wearing, Hermione did not know the spell to create and reinforce a hole for her tail. She was left with two options: wear dirty knickers or none at all.

* * *

Harry looked himself in the mirror, shaking his head a bit at what he had to work with. He opened his mouth, inspecting it as one would a horse. Hermione was the product of two dentists – she would probably look there. He brushed his teeth vigorously to ensure his breath was as pleasing as possible and left the bathroom, approaching his bed. The hangings were partially open. _There is a lovely witch in my bed._ He felt that he ought to congratulate himself right there, but he decided that he wouldn't consider it an achievement until he saw what came of it.

Harry parted the curtains and climbed in, taking care not to tread on Hermione, who was already under the covers and smiling shyly at him. Before he could get under the covers himself, Hermione reached over him and drew the curtains shut. Putting a finger to her lips to signal for silence, she then began whispering spells at the walls of their little oasis, casting what Harry recognized as imperturbable and silencing charms on the hangings to ensure their privacy. When she finished, she finally settled, resting her head on the pillow inches from Harry's. She held her left hand out to him, palm up, inviting him to take it. "Hold me?" She asked. Harry took the offered hand and followed Hermione's lead as she turned her back against him. A second later, Harry's face was buried in kinky brown hair while his hand was pressed against the thin fabric of Hermione's nightgown, held in hers, covering her stomach.

Harry decided that he really liked nightgowns. This one was silvery white and came only halfway down Hermione's thighs. The material was thin and smooth. It clung to her body, making Harry wish that she would never wear anything else. He realized he had never seen Hermione in sleep wear before. She seemed more peaceful, as if she trusted herself more to her dreams than to the day.

Seeing an opportunity to make his friend feel good, Harry reached between her feline ears and started scratching. She sighed and giggled a bit, melting into the handsome boy's touch.

Despite the prevailing mood of the day, Hermione was _very_ pleased. The Harry Potter who entered Hogwarts castle for his first year could not possibly have handled the level of contact he was now sharing with her. The bright young witch had pined for the wonderful wizard wrapped around her for so long, and in the past two days they seemed to have moved by leaps and bounds. She felt safe in Harry's bed, and it was all too easy to imagine spending all her nights here, or at least with Harry.

"Harry?" Hermione began.

"Mmm?"

"Why do you put up with me like this?" She continued, her voice even and light, despite the heavy nature of her words.

Harry was so surprised that he momentarily ceased his scratching. He drew a breath and resumed his ministrations. "Why wouldn't I? You're Hermione. You're important to me. I'm happy when you're happy, and sad when you're not. A little fur doesn't change anything, Mione."

Hermione's breath quickened a bit and she squirmed slightly under Harry's hypnotic touch. _Here's my chance._ "You're important to me as well, Harry. There's no one I trust more than you." She ran her fingers up and down his arm, sending him some tactile gratification. "It's sort of hard to believe I ever slept alone before."

Harry could feel her blush, and momentarily tightened his grip around her waist. "I'm starting to feel the same way." He paused, gathering his courage. "It would be nice to sleep this way every night."

Harry could feel Hermione's back tense up with excitement as she considered her words. "We... we could – if you wanted to, that is."

"I do, but only if you want to-" Harry began.

"I do." Hermione quickly agreed. "I do. I'd like that."

"You could just borrow the invisibility cloak and come and go as you please-" Harry began.

"We will, then. It's just too nice to give up. You've spoiled me." She closed her eyes. Even from his position, buried in a forest of curls, Harry could sense the radiant smile Hermione wore. "Besides, this way I can skip out on the constant gossip in the girls' dorm. I can fall asleep in no time."

At that moment, Ron began to snore.

**The "necktie for her rear" joke is taken from a Calvin and Hobbes strip.**


	4. Chapter 4

**If you like this story, check out my other pen-name, tli. You can find a link in my author favorites. **

Chapter 4

Hermione was dreaming again. Once more, Harry's arms were wrapped around her slender waist as she soared over the quidditch pitch. This time though, the dream had some decidedly erotic overtones. As Harry's hands roamed over her ribs and his breath came in warm gusts on her neck, she found herself grinding the handle of the broom. It felt _very_ good.

Hermione was not a stranger to self-pleasure; it had been a few months since she'd discovered that the tingly feelings caused by Harry could be turned into an orgasm with a little work. As she pressed herself against the hard length of the broomstick, she found herself suddenly a bit more interested in flying. Harry would almost certainly agree to teach her – he had offered before. It would be a perfect excuse to be close to him...

However, these thoughts of flight were brought in for a rough landing. As Hermione climaxed and gripped the broom tightly, the broom turned into an unconscious tousle-haired wizard. She was straddling one of Harry's legs. Her slip had been pushed up past her waist; she had been grinding against the rough flannel of Harry's pajamas and could feel the smooth sheets on her bare bum. To her horror, she had left a patch of moisture on Harry's leg.

Hermione's panic was quickly replaced by surprise, however, when she noticed that Harry's pajama-clad arousal was poking her in the ribs. Apparently, while her unconscious molestation had not woken him, it had generated a physical response. Still breathing hard from her orgasm, she rested her head against Harry's chest and carefully adjusted herself over his hardness. She could hear his heartbeat. She let out a small sniff of mirth as she noticed she could also feel his pulse through his cock.

Was Harry's body reacting to the warmth of another? Was it really true that all boys woke up hard? Was his reaction conscious on any level? Had he been dreaming, and if so, had he been dreaming of her? She couldn't bear the thought that Harry's arousal might have been fueled by thoughts of Parvati or Lavender, or some other girl. Hermione was, of course, not thinking rationally. She had always watched him intently, both with and without his knowledge. If Harry had cast his gaze on any female besides her, she would have known. Still, she second-guessed herself. Was there really a chance that Harry had romantic feelings for his bookish best friend?

Harry's loose grip around her shoulders tightened, and he took in a slow, long breath. He then made a noise that could have been mistaken for a possessive growl. "Mione," He mumbled, and squeezed her a little tighter.

"Harry," Hermione replied in a breathy whisper. She closed her eyes and squeezed him right back. She had what she wanted, and she'd never been happier.

* * *

Harry was having a wonderful dream. He and Hermione were sitting in front of a lit fireplace in the common room, which was curiously empty. It was as if the world's contrast and brightness had been lowered to almost nothing – shadows and soft light from the fire bled into one another, forming a gentle gradient in which light was only cast over the objects that were most relevant.

Hermione was perched in his lap with a book, and there was just enough light for him to read over her shoulder. He couldn't quite tell what she was reading; he could read the individual words, but it seemed they weren't important enough to put together. Instead, he busied himself drinking in Hermione's beauty. She was wearing her school shirt and skirt, having discarded her robes somewhere in an effort to get more comfortable. She looked soft, the light from the fire making her pale flesh glow. Harry encircled her waist with his left hand, his right slowly climbing up her body to stroke her neck. She was ridiculously soft, and suddenly much warmer. Without turning to face him, she closed the book in her lap and set it aside.

She found the hand that had taken up residence on her stomach, grabbed it by the wrist, and brought it up to her breast. With her hand covering Harry's, she gave a gentle squeeze, silently telling him what to do. She let her guiding hand drop. Harry continued to massage and knead her breast, tentatively increasing the pressure of his movements as Hermione's breathing became more and more labored. Harry heard Hermione gasp when he ran a fingernail over one of her nipples, slowly tracing it. The gorgeous witch seemed to approve; she arched her back and spread her legs slightly. In answer to her silent request, Harry's hand dropped to her lap. He kissed her on the neck, shoulder, and ear while he gently rubbed her through her knickers.

Harry would never tire of Hermione's purr. As his touch heightened her arousal, she began to rock on his lap, grinding her perfect bum into his hardness. It felt wonderful. Taking a hand away from her breast, Harry heard a low whine of disappointment. Taking Hermione's hand in his, he stood up, only sacrificing their carnal contact long enough to spin the randy witch around before pressing his hips into hers and sitting back down. Understanding what he wanted, Hermione wrapped her legs around him, sitting in his lap. Through all of this, Harry never let go of her hand. Before Hermione even hit the couch, she attacked his lips and pressed her chest against his, trying to eliminate any space left between them. She rocked herself over the bulge in his pants, inspiring Harry to grab her shapely rear and squeeze it gently.

* * *

Meanwhile, Hermione was having a very good time. Harry, still dreaming, had gradually begun to grind his hardness against her abdomen, letting his hands roam downward until they cupped her bare bottom. Seeing no reason to let him bruise her and reasoning that there were better ways to let him enjoy himself, the half-naked witch moved up Harry's body until his cloth-covered excitement was grinding her into an incoherent sludge. Her legs clamped around Harry's waist and she rocked her hips in time with him, all shame and panic forgotten.

Turned on by her own incredibly dirty behavior, Hermione was headed for another very satisfying release. She could feel a low rumbling deep in her chest, and knew she was about to come. No longer holding anything back, she grabbed Harry by the shoulders and kissed him, slipping her tongue into his mouth. "Harr-eee." She moaned his name as she grabbed a fistful of his hair, the word coming out as a breathy whine.

Harry gave a particularly hard thrust in just the right spot, and that was more than she could take. She shuddered on top of him, breaking the kiss so that she wouldn't bite Harry's tongue off. It was then that she realized Harry had been kissing back. Muscles turned to jelly by a powerful orgasm, Hermione lay limp over Harry's body. "Harry?" she mumbled into his neck.

"Ye-pth." he choked out, expelling some of Hermione's wild curls from his mouth.

"Were you dreaming?" she gasped.

He paused a moment, seemingly in deep thought. "I think I still am."

* * *

Harry and Hermione stared at each other, illuminated faintly by the moonlight filtering in through the curtains around Harry's bed. "We're sticky." Hermione whispered, attempting to break the heavy silence that had fallen over them while they caught their breath.

"My fault." Harry hoarsely replied, eyes wide with fear.

"No, really it isn't. I had a naughty dream about you a while ago and woke up riding your leg." Hermione admitted, shaking her head with a loving smile, eager to put Harry at ease. She stroked his hair.

"You had a naughty dream about me?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Yes, and you just had one about me. You were rubbing against me, and I'm really quite alright with that, Harry. I've fancied you for a while, you know." Hermione said with a playful grin.

In lieu of a response, Harry simply pulled the bushy-haired witch closer. "Does this mean we're... I'm your boyfriend now?" He murmured into her ear, words muffled a bit by her kinky hair.

Hermione snorted. "I wouldn't ride just anyone's leg, you know." She smiled and shook her head in that 'Honestly, Harry' way. "Yes, we're together... if you want to be." Her tone was questioning.

Harry nodded. Hermione could feel him smiling into her neck. He gently pulled Hermione away from his shoulder, stroking her ears and sweeping her hair away from her face. He stared up into her cinnamon eyes with a previously unseen intensity. "I love you, Hermione."

"I love you too, Harry." She replied, and lowered her lips to his once more. "Let's get some sleep. We can celebrate some more in the morning." She climbed off of the wizard who she could finally call hers and laid on her back, turning her head to face him. "Hold me?"

Harry smiled and took her hand, wrapping his arms around his witch and pulling her close. "Any time."

As the two drifted into dreams, yet again, Ron began to snore.

**Ah, young love. Dry humping and feelings of euphoria. It takes me back. Not that far, I suppose. I should warn you all that I had everything through this chapter written in advance and I was just releasing one chapter a day to give you something to look forward to. I used to consider this the "end" of the story, but after looking at it, I feel there should be more. Hopefully I'll be able to keep a good pace going forward.**


	5. Chapter 5

**I apologize for the delay. I'm hoping future updates will happen a bit faster. I have a good idea of where chapter 6 will be going. Not much romance in this chapter, though this whole "plot" thing should be worth the effort in the long run. This chapter features one of my favorite characters.**

Chapter 5

Harry was awoken by a tickling sensation on his nose. Yet again, his face was buried in Hermione's dark, wild curls. He smiled to himself and breathed in deeply, running his fingernails over the sleeping witch's stomach. Slowly, lazily, he reached for the invisibility cloak he'd stashed under his pillow, confirming that it was still there. Eventually they'd have to get Hermione out of the boys' dorm, but for now, Harry simply couldn't bring himself to let go of her, let alone wake her. Thankfully, it was a weekend, so they could have a bit of a lie-in.

Harry wanted to savor this. Hermione felt even better in reality than she had in his dreams. He slowly inhaled her scent. She smelled warm, somehow. He'd never realized that flesh had a smell, but he was convinced that Hermione's gave off one that was quite intoxicating in high doses. He balled his hand into a fist and dragged his knuckles over the soft nightgown she wore. He brushed the tip of his nose against her neck and smiled to himself. The young wizard wanted to get used to this feeling, but doubted he ever would.

* * *

Hermione was having a strange dream. She had come into the Gryffindor common room, hoping to find Harry and drag him off to a cozy corner for a thorough cuddling, but was instead faced with a wall of gingerbread reaching the ceiling. It had candy accents and was trimmed in frosting. Suddenly, a panel of gingerbread slid away, revealing the face of Lavender Brown. If that wasn't strange enough, she was wearing some kind of pointed helmet. "Who goes there?" She asked pompously.

"It's Hermione. Hermione Granger. I've slept ten feet from you for the past two years or so?" Hermione said slowly. "I annoy you because I study, you annoy me because you don't? Is this ringing a bell?" She inquired, giving the airheaded castle guard a shrug and a pleading look.

"Oh! Yes, yes! We've been expecting you! Do come in, please." Lavender's head popped away and was replaced again by gingerbread, and an instant later, a great door opened to admit her. Pausing at the threshold to savor the smell, Hermione entered.

The common room appeared to be intact, though it was now mostly encased in gingerbread. Students were scattered about, seemingly taking no notice of their sweetened surroundings. The wizard she was looking for sat by the fire, grimacing at the spectacle before him. A red-haired woman was feverishly baking more gingerbread panels and bricks which were being carried away by Ron's sister, Ginny. Hermione remembered seeing the red-haired woman at King's Cross – it was Mrs. Weasley. Ron was standing off to the side, staring reverently at what was clearly a weight-bearing pillar of gingerbread while licking his lips.

Hermione made her way to her boyfriend, greeting him with a smile and settling into his side. She then returned her attention to the episode of Weasley Theater playing out by the fire. Mrs. Weasley was humming a happy tune and working mechanically, efficiently, with a grace borne of years of practice. Ginny looked on the verge of falling over, picking up and laying bricks in silence, ashen-faced and unsteady on her feet. Ron – oh, hell. Ron was eating the pillar. "That's going to come down right on top of us..." She muttered, glancing at the ceiling.

"Yeah, probably." Harry sighed.

"Bugger." She exclaimed resignedly, dropping her head onto Harry's shoulder. He began to stroke her ears.

* * *

But then the common room was gone, as was the gingerbread and the ginger family. Hermione was awake. Harry's body heat penetrated her thin slip, warming her to the core. She smiled. He really was stroking her ears. She sighed contentedly and rolled to face him. With her eyes still closed, she nuzzled her cheek against Harry's and asked in a breathy, groggy tone, "Do you ever worry that Ron will eat the castle?"

"Once," Harry replied. "He missed breakfast that morning. I caught him chewing on a tapestry."

Hermione laughed into the pillow, and when she opened her eyes, she found Harry leaning in for a good-morning kiss.

* * *

Thankfully when Hermione carefully crept down to the common room under Harry's cloak, she found that it was as she remembered it – gingerbread-free. While she was glad for the building's structural integrity, she did miss the smell. She climbed into bed and hid the invisibility cloak within her pillowcase, prayed there were no obvious marks of Harry's love on her face, and parted her bed curtains to publicly begin her day.

As Hermione stepped into the shower, she was glad for the steam coming from the other stalls. She could see that her glamors were holding up, but the obscuring mist helped boost her confidence. She began to wash her hair, pausing now and then to scratch her ears, remembering the feeling of Harry's fingers just moments before.

This was the first time her mind really felt clear since this polyjuice fiasco had begun. She suddenly remembered the reason for the whole situation – the heir of Slytherin. They'd been trying to figure out if Draco was the heir of bloody Slytherin, and they'd gotten so caught up in Hermione's furry new additions that they hadn't even discussed it. Hermione sighed. Though she'd come to terms with being slightly cat-like (and was in fact in love with the new ears), the reality of several people being petrified was something that remained – a rainstorm over her Harry-themed parade.

'No,' Hermione thought determinedly. 'I will not let violent, magical hate crimes get me down. Even if I am a prime target of said hate crimes.' Her face fell a bit. 'Bugger, it's gotten me down.'

* * *

When Hermione had dressed and descended to the common room, she found Harry and Ron engaged in a conversation about quidditch. Well, Ron was engaged. Harry was merely present. Ron was, yet again, extolling the virtues of the perennial losers, the Chudley Cannons. Harry nodded at the appropriate moments and made the occasional noise of interest while Ron desperately insisted that this was going to be "their year."

Hermione dropped onto the couch next to Harry, careful not to sit so close as to arouse suspicion. Ron was still talking animatedly, leaning forward on his wingback chair, a manic glint in his eye. Hermione didn't really follow what he was saying. Something about a point spread and the Cannons' chances of beating it. Hermione didn't know what a point spread was, but the desperation and self-delusion evident in Ron's voice told her that the Cannons probably wouldn't beat it.

As Harry continued to nod along while looking at his watch, Hermione's eyes surveyed the common room. The Weasley twins were conversing in low tones by the fire. Seamus Finnegan was trying, yet again, to make his Discman work in the castle by wrapping it in tin foil. He'd already asked her once if she knew how to transfigure lead, and she'd replied that she wouldn't feel comfortable trying it without some classroom experience. Hermione had a feeling that Seamus would be forced to discover vinyl for his listening needs.

Hermione looked at her watch. Five more minutes until it would be reasonable to go to breakfast. She let her neck loll to the side a bit and slipped into daydream mode. She and Harry probably needed to talk about the sort of contact they had last night. It was extremely fun, probably the highlight of her young life if one took into account the period of confession following the... "activity." But she knew that they had come dangerously close to something for which they were unpreapared. She was very much in favor of more kissing and cuddling, but she knew it would be dangerous to let their hormones run rampant. An image of a litter of green-eyed kittens suddenly popped into her head, and she let out a little laugh.

"Do you find Ronald funny, too?" Asked a pale girl who Hermione had previously not noticed. How she had remained unnoticed was a mystery, as she was standing next to the couch occupied by the young lovers. At the blonde girl's words, Hermione whipped to face her, slightly wide-eyed having been surprised in the middle of a doubly incriminating thought. Hermione initially thought she had startled the wispy girl in the Ravenclaw robes – she appeared surprised.

"I... er. I suppose so?" Hermione tentatively replied, trying to put a name with the girl's face and wondering what she was doing in the Gryffindor common room. Harry had turned to the two girls, leaving Ron to rant to himself.

"I live close to Ronald, and I think he's quite funny sometimes too." Hermione realized the girl had not been startled – her eyes were still quite wide, as if she was in a perpetual state of surprise.

The torrent of Chudley evangelism had ceased – Ron had taken note of the pale, wispy girl's presence. "Oh..." Ron began. "'Lo Luna." He finished, averting his gaze to the floor. Hermione noted that the slightly odd girl seemed to make Ron nervous. Hermione wondered what sort of shared history would make Ron react that way. But wait – a Ravenclaw named Luna? Suddenly the bushy-haired witch pointed at the newcomer in excitement.

"Luna Lovegood? You're at the top of your year in Ravenclaw, aren't you?" Hermione demanded. She then realized that she was pointing, and lowered her finger sheepishly.

Luna blinked owlishly. "Professor Flitwick did mention something about that. I didn't think such things were public knowledge."

"They... er. I suppose they're not." Hermione reddened with embarrassment. "I make a habit of asking Professor McGonogall about the point standings every now and then. You earn more house points than any other Ravenclaw first year, so I assumed your grades would reflect that."

Ron seemed to have been shaken from his Luna-induced reverie. "Now and then? Don't you mean every week?" He asked chidingly.

Hermione gritted her teeth and prepared to bite out a reply, but Luna spoke first.

"Ronald, have you spoken to Ginny lately? Something is causing her a great deal of stress, but she refuses to discuss it. I feel obliged as her friend to help her, but she hasn't allowed me to."

As soon as Luna had opened her mouth, Ron had begun to flush. "I dunno what she's been up to. Probably misses our mum or something. Or do you think she's got a humflibber infestation?" Ron mumbled sarcastically, not meeting Luna's eyes.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron, don't make up words. You're not good at it."

But to Hermione's surprise, Luna stepped in to correct the ginger, turning her wide, silvery eyes toward his downcast face. "They're called humdingers, Ronald. Flibbering humdingers. And Ginny's symptoms aren't consistent with a humdinger infestation. Her aura has darkened. Whatever is troubling her is much worse than a simple humdinger infestation."

Ron seemed to be deep in thought. If a chimp had just witnessed its prize stick being snapped in half, its countenance would resemble Ron's. Ron's "deep thought" look always seemed a bit forlorn. "Gin _has_ been acting a bit weird lately. She keeps giving me chickens."

"Chickens?" Hermione deadpanned.

"Just... whole, dead, feathers still on?" Harry asked, shaking his head and making vague hand gestures while trying to make sense of... whatever this was.

"Yeah!" Ron exclaimed. "Crazy, right? As if I know what to do with a whole chicken." He then turned to his bookish friend. "That reminds me, do you know any de-feathering charms? It's a pretty steady stream of birds, and so far they've all gone to waste, so..."

Hermione closed her eyes and grimaced. She kneaded her forehead with the heel of her hand. Harry observed that Hermione was still cute, even when faced with incomprehensible weirdness. Hermione had gathered herself enough to speak. "It didn't occur to you to ask _where_ she was getting these chickens? Even though you knew Hagrid was missing some?"

Ron thought for a moment. Somewhere, a confused chimp felt a fleeting sense of camaraderie from a source that would remain unknown. Ron squinted a bit, and seemed to make up his mind. "It's probably just a coincidence." He nodded sagely.

"I suppose it could be a coincidence. But coupled with the recent darkening of Ginny's aura, it may merit some investigation." Luna politely replied, as if speaking to a sane person.

Harry looked at his watch. "Let's go to breakfast." He suggested. The trio and the Ravenclaw girl headed toward the portrait hole, with Ron leading the way and Hermione bringing up the rear, shaking her head and mumbling.

As Harry held out a hand to help steady Hermione's exit, she grabbed it and gave it a clandestine squeeze. She held it until Harry had made his way through the portrait, reluctantly letting go to avoid being seen. She smiled at Harry as the two walked side by side toward the Great Hall. As they moved through the castle and the distraction of Harry's touch faded, her mind drifted back to Ron's revelation. She voiced her thoughts in a whisper that carried only to Harry. "Chickens... where has he been _putting_ them?"

**I enjoy reading your reviews and look forward to reading a new batch. Whether your comments are demands for more dry-humping (which won't happen for a while, I'm afraid) or questions regarding some kind of glaring plot hole, I eagerly await them. **


	6. Chapter 6

**If you enjoy this story, please remember to check out my other pen name, tli. Thank you to various reviewers for pointing out my chronologyfail with Aunt Marge.**

Chapter 6

Luna seemed to walk somewhat aimlessly, nearly veering off in various other directions but ultimately staying on the path to the Great Hall. Harry noted that everything about her seemed to be a bit ethereal, as if she was just barely occupying the same world as everyone else.

As they walked on, Harry noticed that many of the paintings lining the hallway greeted Luna.

"You know, it never occurred to me before to stop and talk to the paintings. I suppose I've always thought of them as part of the scenery." Hermione commented.

"I talk to the portraits whenever I can." Luna said softly without looking back. "When you've been adjacent to the same set of portraits for so many years, I imagine your social circle begins to feel stale. They're excellent listeners. Cynthia tells very interesting stories."

"Cynthia?" Hermione repeated.

"Your common room guard. I think she's usually called the Fat Lady? I was just talking to her before I came in. She's very understanding. I told her that Ginny seemed to be suffering in some way, and she let me right in." Luna cast a slightly somber look at the couple behind her. "She's worried about Ginny too. Apparently she's been coming and going at odd hours of the night. When Cynthia asked her what she'd been up to the next morning, Ginny acted as if she didn't remember leaving."

Hermione furrowed her brow in thought. "We should ask her about it after breakfast. If we're to believe Ron, Ginny's developed some kind of..." She trailed off, searching for the right words. "Night time chicken vendetta." She finished lamely, with a sigh. "You're welcome to eat with us, Luna. I'd love to hear about the portraits you've met."

Luna stopped in her tracks. Harry and Hermione caught up to her and she began walking alongside them. With more emotion than the two had yet heard from her, Luna spoke. "I'd like that _very_ much." Her smile was subtle, but radiant.

* * *

Harry, Hermione and Luna entered the Great Hall to find Ron already seated and in the swing of things. Harry reasoned that the ravenous ginger must have broken into a run at some point to be settled in already. A hungry Ron was a motivated Ron. He was wrapping scones in bacon and shoveling them into his face at a rate that suggested an impending scone genocide. Harry and Hermione grimaced, whereas Luna looked utterly unsurprised. They all took their seats across from Ron (an area usually unoccupied since it was difficult to eat while gazing upon Ron's frightening machinations) and began to slowly pull food from the area within Ron's reach, avoiding sudden movements.

Knowing that she would not be heard since Ron was in his "zone," Hermione spoke to Luna. "Normally most people are a bit... shocked at Ron's manners. You seem to be taking it rather well."

Luna drizzled honey on some link sausages. "I've eaten at the Burrow a number of times, so I'm familiar with Ronald's passion for edible things."

"Ron seems almost nervous around you." Hermione began. "I can't imagine why he'd be that way. Did something happen when you were younger to make him react so oddly?"

"I can imagine why." Harry piped up. "I bet he had a crush on Luna."

"Harry!" Hermione hissed, eyes shining with mirth. But she was cut off by Luna.

"Actually, it was somewhat mutual." She clarified. Hermione's eyes bugged out.

That seemed to break Ron's scone trance. "Mutual my arse! She kissed me!" He jabbed a rasher of bacon accusingly in Luna's direction. Harry's jaw dropped. Hermione's head fell into her hand and she pounded the table, gasping with laughter.

Luna was unfazed. "And you kissed me. Thought it did happen all at once, so I suppose that may have been confusing for you." Luna turned to Harry and Hermione and elaborated. "Daddy tells me that young children often experiment with physical affection. Ronald and I decided we'd like to know what kissing felt like."

Ron was so red at this point that Harry was reminded of his cousin during physical education in primary school. He fought through his laughter to ask Luna a question. "And what was the verdict? Is he a biter?" He said, raising his eyebrows and leaning forward to see around Hermione.

"More of a runner," Luna said matter-of-factly. "He screamed and sprinted away clawing at himself. At first I suspected wrackspurts, but Ronald insisted he was trying to avoid lurgy. Daddy says there's not much evidence to support the existence of lurgy, but I can't fault Ronald for being cautious."

"Of course." Hermione said demurely, trying and failing miserably to keep from smiling.

Ron, huffing and muttering about lunatics under his breath, had begun to construct a bacon-and-toast suspension bridge between two plates.

Hermione turned to Luna. "So, I'd never thought of the portraits as sentient before. I thought they were imbued with just enough intelligence to understand the difference between a correct password and everything else."

"Most portraits of a single person could be considered sentient. Do you know how magical portraits are made?" Luna asked.

"No." Hermione said, looking very excited at the opportunity to learn something new.

"Magical portraits are made with special paint. The paint contains memories in their physical form – which you need a pensieve to extract. Portraits are only as accurate as the memories used to make them. The portraits that are most alive are those made with memories of the subject." Hermione nodded, fascinated.

Luna continued. "Hogwarts headmasters generally have their memories collected throughout their lives to be added to their portraits when they die. That way their wisdom lives on. Cynthia wasn't made with her own memories, but with memories from her best friend and much of her family. She's kind and understanding because that's how people remembered her."

"Who's the most interesting portrait you've had the chance to speak to?" Hermione asked, her body tense with excitement. Harry smiled at her enthusiasm.

"Well, they've all been very interesting. Every person's story is different, and there's always something to learn from them, even if they're not very nice. I suppose that Lady Ravenclaw's stories are some of the most interesting though. She has lots of stories about the beginnings of Hogwarts and the other founders. If you want to talk to her, it's best to talk to the largest portrait of her over the center fireplace in the Ravenclaw common room. There are little portraits scattered about, but they're really more for helping with homework." Luna paused, looking slightly curious. "Do you have similar portraits in your common room? I didn't notice any."

"We've got Hermione." Ron and Harry replied in unison. Harry quirked an eyebrow at Ron, who had already gone back to nibbling the tips of his bacon bridge. Hermione just rolled her eyes and gave Harry a warm smile, reflecting his teasing one.

* * *

When the foursome returned to Gryffindor tower, Harry, Hermione and Luna paused at the portrait hole. Ron, however, gave the password and went straight in. "I suppose he didn't hear us discussing Ginny's late nights." Luna said hesitantly.

"Or he's satisfied with his 'coincidence' theory." Hermione muttered. Looking up into the face of the Fat Lady – Cynthia, she corrected herself – she spoke. "Hello. I don't think I ever properly introduced myself. I'm Hermione Granger, and this is Harry Potter. I believe you know Luna."

Cynthia looked pleasantly surprised to be having a conversation instead of just opening up to allow entry. "Well, dears, I'm glad to properly meet the two of you. It's always nice to get to know some of the Gryffindors I see every day."

"I was hoping you could tell Harry and Hermione what you told me about Ginny Weasley." Luna suggested.

The change in Cynthia's countenance was immediate – her smile fell and her eyes shone with concern. "It's awful. She's been coming back to the tower in the wee hours of the morning, looking pale as a ghost. Poor child's fingers stained black and red, carrying dead roosters, frightened and lost. Professors don't talk to me unless they know something is wrong with a student, and I'm afraid none of them have noticed the change in Miss Weasley." Cynthia looked positively distraught. "Luna tells me that Ginny always looks tired, even when I know she spent the night in the tower."

Hermione stepped up to the portrait and awkwardly patted a two-dimensional arm. "We'll talk to Professor McGonogall about it and make sure something gets done." She said reassuringly.

"You three are a credit to the school. I see Hufflepuff house isn't the only one with students who care for one another. Do feel free to stop and talk whenever you like. I'm quite bored, more often than not." And with that, Cynthia swung forward to admit the three.

"We will!" Hermione assured the portrait as she grabbed Luna's hand and climbed inside. Harry followed close behind, eyes fixed on Hermione's rear, looking for some trace of her tail.

* * *

Harry, Hermione and Luna ended up finding a secluded corner of the common room and chatting the morning away. Harry and Hermione learned of Luna's childhood, including the tragic loss of her mother to an experimental spell. She had been an unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries, brilliantly gifted with spell creation, a science which Luna herself hoped to pursue. They also got the impression that Luna's dorm mates had been unkind to her so far – hiding her things – but that Luna had taken it as an odd game. She seemed determined to believe the best of people. Hermione resolved to report Luna's mistreatment to Flitwick or McGonogall, and make sure the fair-haired girl always had a seat at the Gryffindor table.

Hermione had told Luna many things about herself, some of which Harry had not known. She spoke of lonely days in primary school, shunned for being a bookworm. She also recalled summer days spent at her parents' dental surgery, reading anything she could get her hands on at a furious pace, going home and diving straight back into the books until her mother ordered her to spend a bit of time outside. She'd go for walks around her neighborhood, observing the children she hadn't the courage to talk to, then going back home to read until bedtime.

Harry, reasoning that he should offer some sort of history to Luna (besides what was written in the history books), told her about Hagrid rescuing him from the Dursleys and his first impressions of the magical world. When Luna asked why he'd been raised by muggles when there were so many magical families willing to take him in, Harry's eyes slid out of focus and settled on the floor. "Dunno," was all he could say.

Hermione quickly changed the subject back to spell creation. "How difficult is it? What year do we start to learn it?" She asked excitedly.

"Unfortunately, it hasn't been part of the Hogwarts curriculum for quite some time. Daddy says it's a shame it isn't still taught. It's the sort of thing you have to study after you've finished Hogwarts, and even then it's not easy to make a living from it. The ministry is publicly distrustful of new magic. Privately, they seem to feel threatened by it. When you become known for spellcrafting ability, they investigate you. If you're very good and you haven't done anything they find offensive, they invite you to join the Unspeakables. That's how my mother became one. Magic is so much more than what we learn here. It seems like most people don't even care to understand it anymore." By the time Luna finished, she wore a tiny, somewhat regretful smile.

Harry's curiosity was piqued. "How do people create new spells?" He inquired.

Hermione was already attempting to figure it out. "Accidental magic sometimes gives us what we want – you escaped from bullies and grew your hair back. Spellcrafting must begin with intent."

Luna nodded. "Yes, it does begin that way. You have to know what you want the spell to do. There are actually a few schools of thought regarding the way spells are created, but they all agree that intent is critical. The next step is to sense the flow of the magic around you. Most people can feel it, but they quickly become desensitized. Do you remember finding your wand?" Both Harry and Hermione nodded. "You felt something that first time, didn't you? Something very intense?"

"Yes, I've still never felt anything quite like it." Hermione agreed. "It was like my veins were full of static and feathers."

"At the beginning of every year, when I see Hogwarts again, I get the same feeling. Like magic missed me while I was away." Harry offered.

Luna addressed her next question to Hermione. "Do you get a similar feeling when you first see Harry in the morning?"

Immediately Hermione reddened. Her jaw worked soundlessly and she looked quite lost and confused. Harry's eyebrows had leapt into his hair and appeared to be stuck there. "How..." he began.

"I have mage sight. Most people just feel magic. I can see it. Your auras are bleeding together. That only happens between people who trust each other very much or spend a lot of time in contact. By the way, your glamour is very well-done Hermione. Is it Professor Flitwick's work? I've never seen an illusion so precise – it's quite impressive. I don't know what it's designed to hide, but I promise not to tell anyone you're hiding something." She finished in a whisper, with what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile.

Luna caught sight of Harry looking furtively around the common room for eavesdroppers. Her smile fell. "Oh," she said with a little gasp. "Was your love supposed to be a secret, too?" She whispered. "I can understand the allure. Daddy used to tell me about taking lunch to my mum at work. They'd sneak around and snog in the ministry building because it was more fun that way. He said 'cloak and dagger romance' broke up the monotony."

Harry let out a nervous laugh. Hermione tried to laugh, but it just came out as a high-pitched sigh through bared teeth. Harry attempted to explain. "We're mostly trying to hide it from Ron. He doesn't handle change well." As he spoke, Harry looked across the common room where Ron was sprawled over an entire sofa, asleep, chewing lightly on the edge of a cushion.

"Yes," Luna nodded. "I've noticed that. It's quite exciting to be part of a secret. I don't think I've ever shared in one before. Does this mean we can be friends?" Luna's tone – detached but slightly hopeful – was heartbreaking.

Hermione, who had calmed somewhat, sent Harry a sympathetic but determined look. Harry read the words in her eyes. 'We're keeping her.' She turned back to Luna and smiled warmly. "Of course, Luna. We're glad to count you as a friend."

Luna's eyes shone brighter and wider than ever, and she hugged Hermione, drawing Harry in as well.

"The 'hide the romance' game is going to be much more fun than the 'find your hidden books and socks' game. I can feel it." She murmured into Hermione's shoulder.

**And on that "aww" moment, the chapter comes to a close. I've done the cloak and dagger romance thing. I don't recommend it. It's fun when you're making out in an elevator, parting only a second before the doors open and schooling your faces to indifference, but the rest of it is just stressful. **

**Please remember to review, as reviews give me little bursts of satisfaction which can result in faster updates. Do it. The power of Luna's gaze compels you.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Luna and Ron? Come on. I wouldn't do that. It's like you guys don't know me at all. Ron was the only boy Luna knew very well. It's not like she'd pick him out of a crowd. It was childish curiosity, and there will be no romance between Ron and Luna. I think we all know she deserves better. ****I apologize if Ginny's confession is boring. It was boring to write. Giving Ginny screen time is something I only do with great reluctance. **

**As always, please review.**

**Chapter 7**

At around one o'clock in the afternoon, Ginny descended from the girl's dormitories. Immediately, Luna set upon her, walking right up to the mousy ginger and taking her gently by the shoulders, looking into her eyes. "Ginny," Luna began gently, "this is an intervention."

Ginny's eyes went wide and her breathing picked up a bit, but she seemed determined to calm herself. "So, you know about the plushie collection." She concluded, hanging her head in shame.

Luna led her back to Harry and Hermione, shaking her head. "Not until just now, no."

Ginny seemed to fold in on herself in the large cushy armchair Luna had led her to. "Is this about the Harry-memento hunting?" She whispered to Luna, panic in her eyes.

Harry seemed to have heard her though. "Is _that _where my shirts have been going?"

Hermione regarded Ginny with suspicion, and again, Luna shook her head. Ginny Weasley must have been all out of secrets, because the next thing Harry and Hermione knew, the youngest Weasley had thrown her arms around Luna and begun to wail. "You know about T-Tom? I'm n-not even writing him anymore, I promise!"

Suddenly, Ron rolled off the couch he'd been snoozing on with a thud. "Who the bloody hell is _Tom?_" He demanded from the floor. Ginny's eyes flicked to the girl's staircase, and that was all Ron needed. He growled and charged for the stairs.

Hermione cracked a mischievous grin. "This'll be good... god he made it up somehow?" Her tone had changed from smug to incredulous. "How? He's a boy. It's supposed to turn into a slide. It says so in Hogwarts, A History!" She insisted.

"Many wards are intent-based." Luna offered. "I would guess that this one was created to dissuade boys with lecherous intent."

"He's not out for a lech." Harry mumbled. "He's out for blood."

They heard squeals and Ron's petulant protests wafting down the staircase. "Sounds like your dorm mates are tuning him up a bit." Hermione observed.

Ginny dashed to the bottom of the steps. "Leave it alone, Ron!" She shouted.

Noticing that they were drawing strange looks from the rest of the common room, Hermione turned her back on the crowd and surreptitiously cast the notice-me-not charm Professor Flitwick had taught her. It seemed to work, as many students returned to their conversations. The brainy witch then turned to Ginny, looking puzzled. "Ginny, what do you mean by 'it?'"

Sniffling, Ginny answered. "Tom is in my diary. I thought you'd found out about him being older and come to stop me from talking to him. I've already stopped. I don't like him anymore. Writing to him used to make me feel good, but now I just... now I feel horrible. I think he told me to... kill Hagrid's roosters." She finished hesitantly, as if she had wanted to say something else.

Luna gently steered Ginny into Hermione's arms and began to climb the steps, probably to rescue Ron from having his arse handed to him by outraged tween girls. The ginger in question soon came tumbling down the stairs. He stood up and dusted himself off, clutching his head, where a lump was rapidly forming. "Animals!" He grumbled, and returned to his couch to sulk.

Moments later, Luna came dashing down, looking far less dreamy than usual and levitating a leather-bound book in front of her. The book appeared to be shivering.

Luna carefully deposited the book on a table and backed away, keeping her wand trained on it. Satisfied that it wouldn't attempt to escape, she rounded on Ginny, who looked stricken. "Ginny, have you been writing in this? Its aura is the blackest thing I've ever seen. It was made with an act of pure evil. Let me see your hands." She took Ginny's hands and examined them. "It's as I feared - it's rubbing off on you. Some of the ink has soaked in." She paused and stared at Ginny intently. "I can even see a change in your eyes. When did you stop talking to him?" She demanded.

Ginny fixed her gaze on the floor, avoiding Luna's eyes and the incriminating diary. "A couple of days ago." she whispered. "I didn't think someone's memories could do anything bad, but I can't remember where I was during any of the attacks."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a concerned look. Ginny's confession was disturbing.

* * *

Ultimately, Hermione and Luna convinced Ginny to go to Professor McGonagall and relay the story of the evil diary. Ginny agreed on the condition that Ron and Hermione go with her, as older students and fellow Gryffindors. Of course, they lost Ron to the Great Hall for lunch on the way to see McGonagall. It was probably for the best. Ron wouldn't have added much to the discussion anyway.

This left Harry and Luna in the common room. Harry felt a bit awkward. He was worried about Hermione and Ginny's meeting with McGonagall. He really hoped his head of house wouldn't blame Ginny for writing in an evil diary. Luna had said it was evil, Harry just thought it looked twitchy. Hermione had taken it, levitating it in front of her as Luna had. "So Luna," Harry began, "how long have you been able to see magic?"

"Always." Luna replied, smiling her unique little smile. "It's a rare gift, like speaking Parseltongue. And just like being a Parselmouth, it's not inherently good or evil, Harry." She'd obviously heard the mutterings about Harry being a dark wizard.

"I'm glad _you_ think so." Harry muttered. "So you could... you could tell Hermione and I liked each other just by looking at us?" He asked, somewhat embarrassed.

"Oh yes," Luna replied quickly. "But I've never met another person with mage sight, so I imagine that everyone else will just have to rely on physical signs to figure out how you feel about each other. If you've been feeling the urge to kiss her, you haven't shown it."

Harry reddened slightly - he'd felt the urge to kiss her whenever he smelled her or looked at her lips. If it wasn't apparent, he supposed he'd been doing alright. "So you said our auras were bleeding together. What does Hermione's aura look like?"

Luna considered the question. "The closest thing I could compare it to would be the aura of the library. There's some mind magic in most books, and Hermione's aura reminds me of that. It's knowledge, but excited and ready to burst. Like a ball of purple lightning."

Harry smiled. "That sounds exactly like her. What about mine?"

Luna looked at him intently. He fidgeted a bit under her gaze. "Yours reminds me of the charms for broomstick flight. It seems to be on fire, in that it always wants to go up. It's a forest green inferno, and it's very bright."

"You make me sound dangerous." Harry chuckled.

"It changes when Hermione is near." Luna went on. "It flares brighter, but instead of just burning upward, it sends out plumes like solar flares to caress Hermione." An impish grin tugged at her lips. "Your aura is lecherous, Harry Potter."

Harry laughed. "What does Hermione's aura do around me?"

"The lightning seems to strike you, and the strikes are very frequent. They sometimes arc over you, trying to envelop you. It seems Hermione wants very much to protect you." Luna continued. "You two look beautiful when you're next to one another. Like a fire in an electrical storm."

"Great," Harry said with mock sarcasm, "we're a natural disaster."

Luna found this very funny indeed.

* * *

Meanwhile, Hermione sat next to Ginny in McGonagall's office, half-listening as the younger girl spilled months worth of concern and pain to their head of house. Before Ginny had come in, Hermione asked McGonagall if a student under the influence of a dark object would be held accountable for her actions. The transfiguration teacher asked Hermione what sort of dark object had influenced her, and the kinky-haired witch had levitated the shivering diary from her bag, depositing it on the professor's desk.

McGonagall eyed the book with suspicion, drawing her wand. The diary now appeared to be trying to vibrate itself off the desk. After murmuring some spells Hermione had never heard before, the professor gasped. Whereas Luna had known the book was evil by looking at it, it seemed McGonagall had confirmed it with a spell.

"Miss Granger, the influence of such a dark object would certainly be taken into account if a student wished to confess to something regrettable." She reached across the table, avoiding the panicking book and covering Hermione's hand with her own. "Where did you find this book and what did it compel you to do?"

"It's not my book, actually. I wanted to make sure Ginny would be treated with mercy, considering she feels she might have done some very bad things." Hermione raised her voice and spoke to the closed door. "Ginny, you can come in now." And thus Ginny's confession had begun.

Now, though, Hermione's mind drifted toward Harry and Luna, likely alone in the Gryffindor common room or eating together in the Great Hall. Was it wise to leave them together? She hadn't thought of it at the time, more concerned with getting help for Ginny, but now she was worried. Luna was very pretty, and the two seemed to be getting along well. Would she come back to find that she had lost some of Harry's love to Luna? She really liked the odd, pale-skinned girl and the idea of being her friend was appealing, but she knew that she couldn't handle losing Harry to Luna. Not gracefully, at least.

By this time, McGonagall was assuring Ginny that the book would be kept away from students, and would be given to Dumbledore for examination. Since Luna was already on her mind and the dark diary problem seemed to be resolved, Hermione decided to voice her concerns about Luna's dorm mates.

McGonagall was upset by the news, and this revelation, coupled with the fact that Ginny had quite possibly been indirectly responsible for the attacks on mixed-blood students, made her appear a bit older than usual. "Thank you both for bringing these things to my attention." She said wearily. "I will speak with Miss Lovegood's head of house and see that the matter is investigated. Miss Weasley, you need not worry about punishment, and your possible involvement in the attacks will not be made public, but I will be informing your parents about the diary."

Ginny sniffled and nodded. "Thank you, professor." She said meekly.

"I expect the Headmaster may also require some of your time. He may have questions for you in the course of his investigation, but I assure you he will not treat you as a delinquent." Professor McGonagall paused for a moment, and managed something like a smile. "Twenty points to Gryffindor for assisting a housemate in need, Miss Granger, and another twenty for assisting Miss Lovegood. You two may go."

* * *

Hermione and Ginny found that it was nearly two in the afternoon, and decided to head to the Great Hall for lunch. They found Harry and Luna sitting side by side, focusing not on the food, but on each other. The sight forced the breath from Hermione's lungs for an instant. She was too afraid to be jealous, and too unsure to be hurt. Ginny took a seat by a fellow first year further down the table, and Hermione sat by Harry, reaching down to give his hand a squeeze. Immediately his attention was torn from Luna, and he rewarded Hermione with the smile that never failed to make her a bit flushed. He squeezed back.

Interruption over, Luna resumed what turned out to be an explanation of Minister Fudge's goblin game ranch. It sounded terrifying and outlandish, although given the depth of stupidity and arrogance among politicians in general, Hermione did not necessarily doubt the truth of the tale. It would certainly explain some of the animosity between British wizards and British goblins.

Hermione suddenly realized that someone was missing. "Where's Ron?" She asked, turning to Harry with mild curiosity.

Harry rolled his eyes and jerked his head forward, gesturing for her to look on the other side of the table. She stood up and leaned over, and found Ron stretched out on the opposite bench, likely in the throes of another food coma. "He was like that when we got here." Harry said with a shrug.

Hermione shook her head and dropped back into her seat. As she ate her bacon sandwich – more of a snack to hold her until dinner than a meal – she ran her fingers along Harry's leg, alternating between gentle scratching and feather-light touches. She liked making Harry blush. A moment later though, Harry launched a counter-attack, tickling the small of her back and brushing against the root of her tail, causing her to snort around a mouthful of bread. Luna asked Hermione if she was alright, though her subtle smile suggested she knew exactly what was happening.

"So," Harry began, "Luna suggested that we should go on a proper date. She gave me a good idea of where to go, though she said maybe it should be a surprise..." He trailed off. Hermione turned to look at Luna, then at her boyfriend, then back to Luna with a grateful smile. She needn't worry about losing Harry. Luna was on her side.

Glancing furtively around the sparsely populated Great Hall, she pecked him on the tip of the nose. "I'd love to."

Luna was grinning and drumming the table top excitedly with her fingertips. "I'll draw you a map, Harry. I think you're going to enjoy yourselves."

**I now have an ending in mind, and it's coming fairly soon. Maybe one or two more chapters. You guys are in for a pretty ludicrous sight gag. I'm pretty sure no one has ever done this particular idea before. Maybe the same hero, but not the same method of conquest. OK, enough riddles.**

**So, who can guess where Harry and Hermione are going for their date?**


	8. Chapter 8

**More romance for those who have been missing it. Also, a morbid art installation and a series of silly names. **

Chapter 8

The location Luna had suggested was the Hogwarts kitchen. Harry had never been there, though Luna had assured him that the staff was "small and quite friendly" and that they always welcomed visitors.

Luna had also mentioned that the cooks took special requests. At some point earlier in the year, Hermione had complained that Hogwarts only served English food, and expressed a desire for curry. Harry's uncle Vernon detested foreign food, and as a result, he'd never tried curry. Hermione said he really should at some point, and suggested that maybe someday they could get some in muggle London.

Upon hearing Harry's anecdote, Luna drifted off to the kitchens to relay a request for curry to the cooks.

Harry and Hermione walked back to Gryffindor tower, hand-in-hand, with a comatose Ron floating in front of them. At one point they passed Professor Sprout in the hallway, causing the rotund witch to gasp in shock at the sight of Ron. "Another attack?" She demanded.

"No ma'am," Hermione replied. "Food coma."

"Again?" Sprout sighed. "You'd think the boy would learn..." She continued on her way.

Harry gave Hermione's hand a squeeze. Hermione's face broke into an adorably sinister grin, and she pinched Harry's bottom, causing him to yelp and breaking his concentration on the levitation spell. Ron dropped to the floor with a thud. Hermione covered her mouth with her hands and winced at the sight. The supine ginger groaned, but didn't quite regain consciousness. Harry took the opportunity to squeeze Hermione's bum in retaliation before resuming the levitation spell. She gaped at him in mock outrage, then took his hand again, eyeing him with exaggerated suspicion.

* * *

After Harry deposited Ron in bed, he and Hermione began their homework, though they couldn't help distracting one another with little touches. Harry had discovered that Hermione very much enjoyed it when he stroked her lower back, just above her tail. As a result he often found himself lifting the hem of her school shirt to caress her silky skin, causing her back to arch in satisfaction. Then, Hermione would turn half-lidded eyes on him and kiss his neck and shoulder, causing the books in his lap to rise an inch or two. Hermione put the notice-me-not charm to good use.

Against the odds, they managed to actually complete their assignments in time for their late dinner date. The couple eventually parted ways and went to their respective dormitories to prepare.

Hermione approached her dresser with some trepidation. She hadn't brought much muggle clothing to Hogwarts. She briefly considered asking to borrow something from Lavender, but then it would be impossible to avoid the inevitable interrogation. The whole thing would likely end with her relationship with Harry being very public very fast. Lavender was a notorious gossip. Ultimately, the bushy-haired witch chose a tight-fitting maroon sweater and one of her school skirts with white knit leggings to protect her from the cold.

Harry, meanwhile, was standing in front of his dormitory's mirror with Neville. He'd chosen to confide in the forgetful boy regarding his relationship with Hermione, and had asked for advice on how to dress. The green-eyed young man looked concerned, while Neville appeared to be deep in thought. "So she didn't say anything about clothes?" He asked.

"Nope." Harry answered bleakly.

"Well then," Neville began, "I reckon you're probably allowed to wear jeans or something. Dunno, Harry. I'm not exactly an expert."

"I don't have any jeans that fit!" Harry groaned, shrugging in exasperation and staring at the ceiling.

"Then just untuck your shirt so you don't look like you're in class. Go for a roguish look." He suggested with a laugh. "You can make up for it with something else." Neville suggested. "Ah, wait! Give her one of these." Neville fetched something from his trunk and approached the gray plant on his dresser. Harry heard a small tearing sound. The next thing he knew, he was being presented with a very two-dimensional flower. It looked like it was made of newsprint. "It's an origami flower. Don't put it in water, just put it in a pot with some shredded newspaper and it'll grow."

"She'll love it. Thanks, Nev." Harry grinned as he accepted the flower and carefully packed it into an envelope.

Harry took out a quill and tore off a scrap of parchment, quickly scrawling a note.

_Ron_

_Out doing extra credit for charms with Hermione. Also, you had another food coma. Take it easy on dinner._

_Harry_

A quick sticking charm fixed the note to Ron's slowly rising and falling chest, and Harry was out the door.

* * *

Hermione was somewhat nervous as she waited near the bottom of the dormitory stairs for Harry to appear. She would've liked to ask her mother for some advice, this being her first date, but there wasn't enough notice. She'd just have to wing it and fill her mother in later. The bushy-haired witch was very curious about the mystery itinerary for the evening, and felt compelled to thank Luna for setting them up this way.

Moments later, Harry appeared. He was wearing his uniform with no robes and with the shirt untucked. Strangely, his tie was green instead of Gryffindor red and yellow. "Why do you have a green tie?" Hermione inquired.

"I don't." Harry said, taking the end of the tie and examining it closely. "It's a color change charm on one of my Gryffindor ties. It'll probably wear off pretty fast. Neville said I should try to match the tie to my eye color." He explained as he helped Hermione out of the portrait hole.

"I had no idea Neville was so well-versed in the art of dressing to get lucky." Hermione giggled.

"He's having trouble fitting stuff into his trunk with all the girl's knickers he's collected." Harry said in mock worry, unsuccessfully trying to look serious.

"We're terrible." Hermione sighed.

"I don't think so." Harry shook his head. "I might be, but you're pretty great." Hermione smiled and gave his hand a squeeze. "Speaking of pretty, you look really nice."

Hermione nudged him with her shoulder as they walked. "Thanks. You look even more handsome than usual."

"Thanks, I spent the time between lunch and now growing this invisible stubble. Going for a roguish look." He said, rubbing his chin.

"It's working." Hermione giggled.

* * *

The young lovers were soon near the "X" on the map Luna had provided.

"Here we are." Harry said with uncertainty.

"A hallway?" Hermione inquired.

"Oh." Harry exclaimed, looking at the bottom of the map. "It says 'tickle the pear.'"

"Is that a euphemism for what you're planning to do to me?" Hermione asked playfully.

Harry was already tickling the pear on the painting in front of them. It swung forward and admitted them.

Harry and Hermione gasped. The kitchens were a vast oasis of shining copper and dark iron. That wasn't the surprising part, though. The surprises were strangely cute knee-high creatures with huge eyes and bat-like ears, clad in towels bearing the Hogwarts crest.

"Greetings, Harry Potter Sir and Miss Grangey. Spatchcock is being told by Miss Looney that you was coming. Now that you is here, please be sitting down while Roux finishes your food." With that, the tiny creature took them both by the hand and led them to a table for two – the only dining table in the kitchen – with a view of the central fireplace.

Spatchcock assured them that he would be back shortly before disappearing with a pop.

Harry leaned across the tiny table. "They're house elves. I guess this is what Luna meant when she said the staff was 'small and friendly.'"

"So they're the ones who do all the cooking? I can't believe this isn't in Hogwarts, A History! I'd never given much thought to where the food came from. So what are we having?" She asked, nudging Harry's foot beneath the table.

Harry wore a smug smile. "Curry." He declared triumphantly.

Hermione leaned back in surprise. "No!" She hissed in disbelief.

"Yes." Harry insisted, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.

"What kind?" Hermione asked excitedly.

Harry's face fell. "There's more than one kind of curry?" He asked flatly.

"There are several kinds, but I would guess the elves are probably making one of the popular ones." She saw the panic on Harry's face. "I'm sure I'm going to like it, Harry. It's sweet that you remembered I missed curry." She locked her gaze with Harry's and rubbed the pad of her thumb against his reassuringly.

With a pop, Spatchcock reappeared holding two plates of rice and exotic-smelling reddish stuff. As the tiny elf placed the plate before her, Hermione leaned forward and drew a great breath through her nose. "It's tikka masala!" She exclaimed.

"So you've had it?" Harry asked hopefully.

"I love it!" She heralded before taking a bite and dissolving into giddy closed-mouth giggles.

The two lovers ate and talked, finally arriving with twin blushes on the subject of what had happened late last night. Hermione made sure Harry knew she wasn't at all upset, but felt that they shouldn't go further for quite some time. She'd almost said that they had gone too far, but she knew how Harry would handle that – he'd drown in guilt, and she couldn't have that. Besides, it wasn't as if anyone had been hurt.

"It felt wonderful, and I'm glad it happened, but we should probably wait a while before we do anything too sexual." She explained.

"I liked it too, and I'm alright with waiting." He squeezed her hand.

Eventually, while inspecting the kitchen around them, Hermione's eyes alighted on an odd sculpture on the mantle over the large fireplace. There were three house elves, one mid-stride, one pointing ahead threateningly, and one that appeared to be skipping, cavorting about with a fountain of charmed water spouting from its mouth. "I think that's the strangest statue I've ever seen." Hermione mused.

"It's pretty odd. Looks like the artist had multiple personalities or something." He theorized, inspecting the statue.

With another pop, Spatchcock reappeared. "Spatchcock is glad you is liking the monument of fallen elves. We is hoping to have them unstoned soon. Coddle and Dimples is being missed for their dungeon cleaning skill." He said, gesturing to the pointing and walking elves. "Squeegee, we is not missing so much." Here he gestured to the cavorting elf. "He is working well, but he is also being a bit strange."

"So those are real, petrified elves? They were attacked just like the muggle-born students?" Hermione asked, aghast.

"Yes, Miss Grangey." Spatchcock replied, nodding his head so that his ears flapped slightly.

The little elf didn't seem overly perturbed by this. It was strange. Hermione was grasping at straws, trying to figure out how she felt about his stoic attitude.

"Isn't that a bit rude?" She asked. "Taking your fallen comrades and turning them into gaudy fountains?"

"Perhaps Miss can be suggesting what we is to be doing instead?" Spatchcock offered. "We is finding gaudy fountains more cheerful than the Pile. We is even trying to improve the Pile's aesthetics by covering it with a tablecloth, but we is finding it just as depressing. The fountain idea is coming from Dobby, and we's must admit it was a good one."

Harry stabbed a bit of chicken especially hard and closed his eyes, trying to control the anger which had flared in him at the mention of that damned elf. "Did you say... Dobby?"

"Yes, Harry Potter Sir. Dobby is visiting us Hogwarts elves to hold seminars on being alive. The sunglasses is also being Dobby's idea. Dobby is insisting they will make a difference between petrified and not alive, though Spatchcock is sometimes thinking that the glasses do nothing." Spatchcock's squeaky voice dropped to a whisper. "Dobby is always being drunk when he is gives us this advice, so that he is not feeling the punishment as much."

"So wearing glasses makes it so that you're only petrified instead of killed? What kills you if you look at it?" Hermione mused aloud.

"Snape, up close?" Harry suggested.

Hermione smiled and rolled her eyes. "Well, perhaps Professor Dumbledore will be able to figure it out, now that he has that evil diary."

"I'll bet Dobby knows and he just can't tell anyone." Harry said darkly. He turned to Spatchcock. "Do you have any idea when Dobby will be back?" He asked.

"Dobby comes once a week so that he can be checking for petrifications and telling us to wear sunglasses, Harry Potter Sir. He can be expected on Wednesdays after dinner time." Spatchcock offered.

"Then you can expect us on Wednesday." Harry said firmly.

"You and Miss Grangey is welcome any time, Harry Potter Sir. Us elves is here to serve Hogwarts. We is glad of the opportunity to help you as well as Miss Looney when Miss Looney's bad roommates take her things and hide them." He explained. "We is making sure Miss Looney is having her school clothes in time to be dressed every morning."

Hermione looked crestfallen upon hearing the depth of the Ravenclaw bullies' treachery. Harry just looked angry. "Could you tell Professor Flitwick what you've told us about Luna's roommates?" Hermione asked. "We've grown very fond of Luna and we'd like to make sure she's not mistreated."

"Spatchcock will do that, Miss. We is liking when Miss Looney is visiting us for mealtimes, but today Miss Looney is telling us she is happy to be eating with you's. We is appreciating that you have cheered Miss Looney up, since we is preferring that Miss Looney be happy."

"We is too." Harry said. Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him. He then blinked, shook his head, and corrected himself. "We do too."

Having finished their dinner, the two Gryffindors left the kitchens, thanking the house elves for their trouble. Not wanting to return to the common room just yet, they wandered the castle, holding hands and enjoying each other's company. Eventually their wanderings led them to the grounds, and they found themselves close to the whomping willow, which was taking half-hearted swings at passing owls with its non-bandaged branches.

Hermione suggested that Harry apologize to the violent tree, since from the tree's point of view, he was the aggressor. Harry grudgingly called out an apology from a safe distance. "...and I really don't know why I agreed to it. I had no idea the car wouldn't be able to take such a long trip. We were trying very hard not to crash into a wall at the time, and in the course of doing that, we hit you. I'm really sorry, and I hope your limbs heal soon." Harry felt quite stupid, apologizing to a tree.

The tree seemed to accept the apology, though, as it bowed its limbs slowly in what Harry interpreted as a gesture of respect. "There," Hermione said. "Don't you feel a little better about it, now?"

"It could have just been flexing." He muttered. "I suppose I do feel a bit better." Harry sighed. He gave Hermione's hand a squeeze. "You're quite the diplomat. Bringing man and tree together to peaceful resolutions."

"I try," Hermione said demurely.

The sky – already dark when they'd left the castle – had turned an inky black as night fell, compelling the couple to return to Gryffindor tower. "You've still got the cloak, right?" Harry asked as they walked down a deserted corridor.

"Yes," Hermione answered in a low voice, swinging their joined hands and smiling blissfully as they walked along. "It's still under my pillow." Harry began drifting away from her a bit to allow himself a better view of her. Hermione had to cease her swinging as there was no longer any slack in their arms. "What?" She was blushing at his inspection.

"You really do look beautiful, Mione. What are those things on your legs?" He asked, eyeing the white garments with interest.

"Hips. They're new." Hermione answered smugly.

Harry fixed her with a glower, though it held no real contempt. "I think you know what I mean. The white things."

"Leggings. I thought they'd look nice and keep me warm." She replied. "Do you like them?" She asked, knowing quite well that he did. Harry merely blushed and nodded his head. "I could wear them to bed tonight." She whispered. "You can decide if you want them on or off." She offered, averting her gaze, surprised at her own boldness.

Harry gulped and cleared his throat. "I'd like that."

They had only to round one more corner before the hallway that was home to the Fat Lady. Hermione slowed, bringing the two of them to a stop. She pulled Harry close and lightly pressed her lips to his. "I'll see you again soon."

Letting their hands part before they reached the common room, they entered through the portrait hole, bidding Cynthia good evening as they passed. At the bottom of the dormitory staircases the two bade each other a public goodnight and parted ways.

* * *

A minute later, Harry was speaking quietly to Neville in the dormitory bathroom as the two brushed their teeth. "...and then he just woke up gibbering about how the ham had betrayed his trust. We sent him to the hospital wing. He should be fine in the morning." Neville said with a nonchalant wave of his hand. "So the date went well, then?"

"I think so." Harry answered, "Did you know there was more than one kind of curry?"

"No. Never had it before. Was it the right kind?" Neville inquired, leaning against a sink.

"Apparently it was. Pretty lucky, I suppose." Harry chuckled as he washed his face.

"It's not as if the flower wouldn't have made up for it. How'd she like it?" Neville demanded eagerly.

Harry slapped his wet forehead, the sound of the moist impact echoing slightly off the tile. "I forgot to give it to her!" He dried his hands and withdrew the envelope containing the flower from the pocket of his slacks. "I'll have to give it to her tomorrow." He lied. He could easily give it to her moments from now. The two boys exited the bathroom and headed toward their beds. "Night Nev. Thanks for all the help." Harry whispered.

"No problem, Harry." Neville then disappeared behind the curtains of his bed.

Climbing into his own four-poster, Harry quietly crept to the foot of the bed and parted the curtains just enough to see the door, which he'd left slightly open for Hermione. Right on cue, the door eased open, admitting an invisible, slightly feline witch – he hoped. It would certainly be problematic if some other invisible person was parting the curtains on the side of his bed and easing onto the mattress. But then a lock of kinky hair appeared, allaying his fears and bringing a smile to his face. He sat back on his heels, ready to help her in.

A hand appeared in his own, and the rest of Hermione soon came into view. She was wearing the same brilliant slip from the night before and the intriguing white leggings from their date. Hermione thought it an odd combination, but somehow she doubted Harry would worry about the colors clashing. Harry brought her delicate hand to his lips; the gesture was almost like worship.

Hermione placed a hand on Harry's chest, gently pushing him back onto his pillow before slinking over him and lowering herself to his lips. She felt her slip coming down over her arched back, but it didn't worry her. She'd asked Professor McGonogall about creating more tail-compatible knickers after Ginny's confession, and the older woman had taught her the spell to create the newly-perforated pair which encased her bum at that very moment.

One of Harry's hands bunched in her hair, occasionally caressing her feline ears while the other hand busied itself skimming lightly up and down her spine, making her shiver with pleasure. Hermione, meanwhile, cradled Harry's cheek with one hand, while the other traced the shell of an ear, causing a stutter in his previously smooth ministrations.

Eventually, Hermione had moved from kissing to rubbing her cheek very lightly against Harry's, peppering him with little kisses whenever she wasn't buried in the crook of his neck. Somehow, she preferred this to more traditional kissing. It seemed more intimate. Maybe it was the amount of surface area involved – cheeks are bigger than lips – but she found herself calmed by the contact. She felt warm and heavy, but a bit lightheaded, as if their love was a sedative. She could feel her heart beat, not quickly, but slow and _hard,_ with lazy, audible thuds. Harry may have been feeling the same way. His hands had slowed and he was now focused on the feather-light nuzzling.

"I love you, Hermione." Harry murmured, his voice low and heavy.

"Love you too, Harry. I had a great time." The sleepy witch sighed and settled herself onto Harry's body, shifting her hips off to the side so as not to bruise him. She ended up wrapped around his side, with her face buried in his neck again.

"Me too." Harry yawned. "Got something else for you tomorrow. Forgot it earlier."

"You're spoiling me." Hermione mumbled, tickling him with her breath.

"You're worth it." Harry exhaled, closing his eyes.

Hermione pressed a light kiss to her wizard's shoulder. "Thanks."

Seconds later, they were asleep.

**Spatchcock is seriously a word. It's pretty brutal, too. Congratulations to Dericof Diname on being the first to guess the location of the date. **

**Neville's a pretty awesome wingman. Then again, if you'd been forced through etiquette training and you knew how to grow striking flowers for your friends with lady-friends, you would be too.**

**I've decided to try to release on Fridays, since it seems that makes a positive difference in exposure. Is there a particular day of the week when you guys go hunting for new stories? As always, I enjoy reading reviews.**


	9. Chapter 9

**This chapter contains a rare glimpse into Ron's subconscious. You've been warned. Wear a cup.**

Chapter 9

Ron Weasley was not afraid. Lesser men in his situation would have been, certainly. Not him, though. He was the picture of calm as he crouched on the hood of his father's car – which was in freefall over the Hogwarts grounds – like the world's most ruggedly handsome hood ornament.

"Now listen, Hermione," he began, shouting over the rushing wind. "When we get close, I'm going to conjure something soft for you to jump onto while I heroically jump to safety."

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione swooned from the passenger seat, not even thinking of analyzing Ron's plan for inconsistencies. "Are you sure we'll make it?"

He threw a devil-may-care grin over his shoulder at the incredibly fit witch in the passenger seat. Her Hogwarts uniform was a bit tighter than usual, and if he wasn't mistaken, it showed a bit more leg as well. "'Course we will, love. Haven't let you down before, have I?" He said with a wink.

He faced forward again, fixing his gaze on the ground, which was quickly rushing up to meet them. He had a rough idea of where they would land, and it didn't look good. "Willow!" He hissed, his eyes narrowing on the large, violent tree. "We meet again. But this time..." He reached behind his back and pulled a very large axe from... well, no one could quite say where, but there it was. "I'm ready." He ground out in a very manly, determined voice. It was gritty. In a sexy way.

At the very last moment, when disaster seemed imminent, he leapt from the hood with a roar, conjuring a 60-foot marshmallow with one hand and swinging the mighty axe with the other. Hermione, who had jumped out of the car as he instructed, landed with a soft plop on the marshmallow, which quivered appetizingly. The car ran aground where it promptly exploded. Ron and his axe met the whomping willow head-on, and after flying through a haze of leaves, he landed on his feet with catlike precision and whipped around to regard the tree. It was gushing torrents of sap, flailing wildly in its death throes. He had split it clean in half. He strutted up to the giant marshmallow and vanished it, catching Hermione in his arms where she clung on tightly. "Oh Ron! I was so scared!" She swooned, yet again.

"Shh..." he cooed. "S'alright now, Mione. I've got you."

And suddenly he was in Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor in Diagon Alley. A large purple elephant wearing a top hat, cape, and sash sat next to him, periodically hoovering up melted ice cream from a bowl with his trunk. The elephant regarded him with wonder, adjusting his monocle.

"A marshmallow? You don't say, my good man! And the tree – clean in half! I only wish I could have seen it myself." He lamented. "Say, the coach of the Cannons asked me this morning if you'd do him the honor of substituting for their keeper in tomorrow's game. Do you think you might be able to spare a bit of your time? The fans are in love with you, and he's afraid it'll be a riot if you don't at least stop by." The purple pachyderm entreated him.

Ron surveyed his surroundings, asking himself if it'd all fall to bits without him. It was his ice cream parlor, after all. He was the king of it – had the crown and everything. "Well, Minister, I suppose I can't let the people of Diagon Alley keep me all to themselves, now can I?" He shared a guffaw with the elephant, who pounded his immense knee with merriment.

"Too right, old boy!" The elephant nodded.

Luna Lovegood, Lavender Brown, Hermione, and a couple of older Slytherin girls whose names he didn't know were all taking it in turns to feed him ice cream, while Draco Malfoy sullenly fried pound upon pound of bacon in the background.

"Malfoy!" Ron barked, leveling his scepter at the pointy-faced Slytherin. "Waffles. Now. Or I'll kill you where you stand." Draco nodded curtly, though he wore an impotent sneer. His oily, slicked-back hair was encased in a hairnet, and he was wearing an apron with a Gryffindor crest on it. Ron grinned smugly as he accepted another bite of chocolate fudge ice cream. All was well.

Except that it wasn't, because he'd choked a bit on that last bite.

Meanwhile, in the real world, Ron choked on the corner of his pillowcase and ejected it, still unconscious in the hospital wing.

* * *

Hermione was grinning. It was a brilliant idea. Harry's relatives weren't fit to care for him, and she didn't think she could bear being away from him for a whole summer – he could live with her family. She'd told her mum plenty about Harry. His gorgeous eyes, his smile, his humility and kindness. It hadn't taken long for her mum to call her out on the crush, which she had admitted to with little resistance. Hermione was convinced that her mother was in love with Harry as well – at least the idea of him.

So she'd taken Harry aside before the end of term and told him the plan. He'd just tell his relatives that he didn't have to live with them anymore, and he'd go home with her family.

But when the day came and she stepped off the platform hand-in-hand with Harry, her parents met her with looks of distaste. "Who's this, Hermione?" Her father demanded.

"This is Harry, dad. I was hoping he could stay with us this summer. I've already told mum, but his family really doesn't treat him well." She explained tentatively.

"We can't just go taking in strays, Hermione." Her father said patronizingly. "Especially boys." He finished, looking at Harry with obvious distrust.

"It just wouldn't be proper, dear." Her mother said with a wave of her hand, dismissing the idea as silly.

"If you're going to come back from this place every summer with nothing to show for your effort but some magic tricks and some boy you've picked up, I believe we'll be rethinking your education, young lady." Her father said darkly, shaking his head. He grabbed her arm and started leading her away. This wasn't right. Her parents wouldn't treat her this way. They would take Harry in and love him as much as she did.

Hermione was in shock as she was dragged forward a few steps, and she felt Harry's hand slip out of hers. "G'bye Hermione." Harry mumbled.

She looked back to find him being dragged away by a purple-faced fat man who was already beating him about the head and shoulders. Harry's posture slumped, and he cast one last baleful glance over his shoulder at her before he and his awful relatives disappeared into the crowd.

"Daddy, _no!_" She yelled, fighting to escape his grip, but it was as if she was stuck to him. She desperately stood on her toes to try to see Harry over the crowd. "I love him and I don't want to go anywhere without him!" She began to sob.

* * *

Hermione woke to find Harry with his nose inches from her own, looking more stricken than she'd ever seen him. She reached up to her face, finding it damp with tears. She'd been crying in her sleep.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked softly. "You were crying. Did I do something wrong?" He asked anxiously.

"No, Harry." She breathed, closing her eyes and bringing him close so that she could fix a chaste kiss to his lips. "I had a bad dream." She sighed. "Would you let me ask my parents if you could come live with us?"

"You don't have to do that. I survived ten years with the Dursleys, and I don't think they'll bother trying to lock me up this time." He stroked her cheek.

"I want to." She buried her head in his chest.

"Alright." Harry squeezed Hermione. "It would be nice to live with someone who loved me." He said with the ghost of a grin.

Hermione stroked his back. "That's me." A moment passed, during which the couple held one another with a degree of desperation.

At length, Hermione spoke again. "I suppose we should get up now." She paused to breathe Harry in deeply. "I think this is the first time since coming to Hogwarts that I genuinely don't want to go to classes. I'm very comfortable right here." She looked up at Harry from his chest, and he inclined his head to look back at her, questioningly. "You're a bad influence." She said, as if it was obvious.

* * *

"Harry, I had that dream again." Ron said as he erected what could only be called a _silo_ of pancakes.

"The one with the talking purple elephant?" Harry asked.

"Minister Peppermint, yeah. He was there again, and I was the King of Ice Cream." His eyes shimmered with emotion. "You know, if Peppermint ran for minister, I reckon I'd vote for him, elephant or not." He said wistfully.

Harry began to eat his breakfast, flanked by Hermione and Luna. They were all trying not to watch Ron determine how many layers of pancakes could be stuffed into one bite. As Neville was next to Ron, he had an easier time ignoring the spectacle. As long as he didn't look to his left, he'd be alright.

Harry subtly drew the envelope from last night out of his robes and extracted the origami flower Neville had given him. With a flourish mostly hidden by the table, he presented it to Hermione. "Pretty flower for a pretty girl?" He said innocently.

"Oh, Harry, it's gorgeous." She gasped, admiring the papery blossom. "Where did you get it?"

"Neville was kind enough to give it to me when I told him we had plans. Don't put it in water, just put it in a pot of newsprint." Harry explained with a smile.

"Thank you, Harry." She squeezed his leg under the table. "And thank you, Neville." She smiled at the forgetful boy.

Luna had been gazing fondly at the flower, but she tore herself from it to regard Neville instead. "Is that an origami flower, Neville?"

"Um... yeah." Neville mumbled. "Been growing it on my dresser in shredded newspaper."

"I've seen them before. Daddy can't stand them because they're growing wild in his print shop. Some back issues of the Quibbler have become a bit muddled and covered in paper blooms. I think it makes them even prettier, but Daddy disagrees." She explained.

"If you can, try adding some color to the pages. I've noticed mine doesn't like color. They seem to like dark ink or none at all." Neville said with a level of confidence he only brought to herbology.

"Printing in color is very expensive, and I don't think Daddy would want to spend that much. I'll keep it in mind, though. Thank you, Neville." She smiled and applied honey to her toast.

"You're welcome." Neville stammered, slightly red and grinning.

* * *

As it was Monday, classes were in session. Harry and Hermione stayed behind after Charms class so that Professor Flitwick could recharge Hermione's glamours. The diminutive, mustachioed man commended the two for bringing the Ravenclaw bullying problem to light, and assured them that the bullies would be punished.

Professor McGonogall held them back after Transfiguration to inform Hermione that Madame Pomfrey had suggested a dose of the mandrake restorative draught that was being brewed for the petrified students. This meant there would be a great deal of waiting, but it gave Hermione hope.

Lockhart tried to test a tooth-whitening charm he'd "invented" on Neville. The charm left a smoking crater on the wall behind the pudgy boy, who had just barely ducked out of the way.

Potions was a farce, as usual. Hermione spent the period stirring and trying to figure out the composition of the substance in Snape's hair while Harry followed Snape's brewing directions (as interpreted by his bright and beautiful partner). Ron ended up making a remarkable facsimile of grape Kool-Aid in Seamus's cauldron.

Over lunch and between classes, Harry and Hermione had discussed their options for informing Ron that they were dating. It was decided fairly quickly that they really needed to tell him, since he would find out eventually and was likely to be upset no matter _how_ he found out. Hermione was incredibly amused by Harry's theory that Ron had some feelings for her, though Harry insisted that Ron probably wasn't completely aware of the feelings himself.

After deciding to come clean, it then became a matter of honing their strategy. Harry insisted that defensive measures would have to be available in case Ron started throwing hexes. Hermione thought that violence could be avoided entirely, and after Harry heard her plan, he admitted she might be right.

It was now dinner time, and Ron was staging some sort of naval battle on the surface of his beef stew. Harry and Hermione shared a furtive glance, and with a little nod, their plan was set in motion.

"Cake!" Harry barked out, disguising the word as a cough. Instantly, a cake appeared on Ron's plate. It was not a large cake, but it was substantial, especially considering it was all intended for one person. The cake was round and looked to be about three layers high. The icing was all brown except for two words on top in beautiful, golden joined letters: _We're dating!_ Worried that this might be misinterpreted, the couple had also employed the use of tiny Harry and Hermione figurines, which it appeared the house elves had animated. They were snogging with gusto in the center of the cake, oblivious to the world around them.

Ron looked at the cake with undisguised glee, though his smile fell after he'd read the message. For a moment he appeared confused, but then looked closer at the tiny figurines. He looked flustered and lost, but most of all, mentally exhausted. "You're dating?" He demanded plaintively, looking between Harry and Hermione.

"Yes, Ron, but there's cake." Hermione said gently.

"But you're DATING? The two of you? But..." Ron's eyes were snapped shut and he was shaking his head in denial.

"It's chocolate." Harry said soothingly, patting Ron's hand in a gesture of comfort.

Ron looked longingly at the cake, then back up at the two lovers, then back down at their tiny ornamental counterparts. "...I feel like this is cheating, somehow."

"Maybe," Harry conceded. "But this was the only way. I would never have told you something like this without bringing cake." He said earnestly.

Ron heaved a great sigh and plucked the tiny Harry and Hermione (who were long overdue to come up for air) off the cake, stole a serving spoon out of a tureen of mashed potatoes, and shoveled a large quantity of moist cake into his mouth. "Yr a gub fren, Harry." Ron said resignedly, closing his eyes and savoring the chocolatey consolation prize.

The young couple bumped fists under the table. "Told you it would work." Hermione muttered.

She then turned toward the Ravenclaw table and gave Luna a signal. The silver-eyed girl made her way to the Gryffindor table and sat down next to Hermione. "It's safe now. I think he took it quite well." Hermione whispered. Ron was slowly chewing another large bite of cake, though his gaze was downcast and mopey. He looked like a sad horse. "As well as we could hope, I suppose." Hermione amended.

* * *

The Gryffindors and their pale Ravenclaw companion made their way up to the Gryffindor common room. Ron clutched his cake close the whole way there, as if subconsciously afraid Harry that would win the cake's heart as well. Hermione had pocketed the tiny figurines of herself and Harry, entertained and inspired by their antics. Upon reaching the common room, they gathered around a fireplace with Harry and Hermione sharing a loveseat and Luna on the couch, separated by a whole cushion from Ron, who was still listlessly working his way through the delicious but bittersweet cake.

As they spoke of classes and quizzed Ron about where Minister Peppermint stood on various important issues, Ginny entered the common room looking quite worn out and a bit irritable. "Where've you been?" Ron demanded morosely around a mouthful of cake.

"In the Headmaster's office. I don't think he's as smart as everyone thinks he is." Ginny said wearily, shaking her head and plopping down next to Luna.

"Why not?" Hermione challenged.

"He called me into his office before dinner, saying it was 'of the utmost importance' and that I was 'essential to the destruction of a dark force.' I got there, and the two of them were having a drawing fight." She whined disgustedly. "Dumbledore had blown the diary up about fifty times its usual size, so it was taller than him, and they were just drawing really crude willies all over the page and arguing about which one of them was a bigger fool."

"'They?'" Hermione prompted.

"Dumbledore and Tom. The Headmaster said I was the key to defeating Tom, and that he was a 'fragment of a larger evil.' He told me I had to break up with Tom, and that the 'pain of loss' would destroy him from within." Ginny repeated sarcastically, clearly believing the old man was insane.

"So what happened?" Hermione demanded.

"I decided to just go with it. Walked up to the diary, told Tom it was over and that he was a terrible boyfriend. That didn't do anything, of course. So I asked the Headmaster if I was done and he just shook his head like this," Ginny pinched the bridge of her nose and scrunched her eyes shut, "and said I could go."

"Professor McGonogall was waiting outside and I told her what happened. She looked really worried and kind of sad and said Professor Dumbledore might not be getting enough sleep. She promised she wouldn't let him bother me about it again without asking her first. I'm going to bed." Ginny finished, shaking her head again in disbelief and heading for the stairs without a backward glance.

Hermione had no words for what Ginny had just described. She had that look of indignant confusion on her face that seemed to ask "How _dare_ you make so little sense?" Harry found it adorable.

"Seems like a dodgy plan for a manipulative diary. Try to break its heart?" Harry asked rhetorically.

"Oh, that reminds me." Hermione said, turning to Luna. "I know I thanked you this morning, but thank you again for our date." She added parenthetically. "While we were talking to Spatchcock in the kitchens, he mentioned that another elf has told the Hogwarts elves to wear sunglasses to avoid being killed. Supposedly this attack is intended to kill instead of petrify, and sunglasses stop it from killing you. What do you suppose would kill a person if they saw it directly?"

"A basilisk would do that." Luna said simply. "Spiders fear basilisks. Didn't you say there were spiders fleeing from the attack sites?" Harry nodded. "Basilisks fear roosters, as well. That would explain why this Tom person wanted Ginny to kill Hagrid's roosters."

"What's a basilisk?" Hermione asked with great interest.

"It's a giant snake with a deadly gaze, created by hatching a chicken's egg under a toad." Luna explained.

Harry's eyes grew wide. "I heard it, Hermione. That's the voice no one else can hear. I understand it because I'm a parselmouth!" He said excitedly.

"We should tell Professor McGonogall!" Hermione exclaimed in alarm.

Ron sat slumped back with the now-empty cake plate on his lap. Without moving his head, he looked at the clock over the fireplace. "Dunno, Hermione. Probably don't want to bother her with it this late, do you?"

Harry and Hermione looked at Ron incredulously, while Luna just cocked her head a bit and stared at him. "So it's too _late_ to tell Professor McGonogall that there's still a giant, murderous snake somewhere in the castle?" Hermione asked.

"I suppose you've got ten minutes to curfew." Ron said evenly. "Might be able to squeeze it in." He added, leaning back into the couch and closing his eyes.

Hermione was already halfway to the portrait hole with Harry scrambling to catch up to her. Luna followed, her gliding footsteps faster than usual as she struggled to keep up with the others.

"'Night, Luna." Ron said without opening his eyes.

"Goodnight, Ronald." Luna called as she vaulted gracefully out of the portrait hole.

**The last couple of chapters have been pretty easy, but this one was a struggle. It was pretty much built around the couple's confession to Ron. Thankfully Ginny's story about Dumbledore's office fell into place immediately afterward.**

**I really enjoy this whole dream thing. They're a lot of fun to write, especially when they come from Ron's diseased little mind. I think I captured Ron's perfect world pretty well. Interesting fact: Ron, Minister Peppermint, and Merlin play exploding snap together in Ron's dreams every other Thursday. Malfoy is there to serve them drinks and dance for their amusement.**

**I'm figuring out as I look at my other work that night and day are recurring motifs. I guess it was only a matter of time before I called one "Nocturnal."**


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry about the delay. One of my jobs is seasonal, all leading up to one annual event, so March is always busy for me. I've lost the momentum I had with this story, so I'll have to get that back. I'll be going on vacation soon, so I hope to get a lot of writing done then. **

**No romance here, just a fight scene that seemed more epic in my head than it ended up on paper. If you'd like to get properly pumped before reading it, just search for Shine On Me on Youtube. It's the first result. If it looks like Lucius Malfoy is pretending to play the guitar while occasionally fighting dragons, you're in the right place. Best music video ever made.**

**Edit: Fixed a few little things. That's what I get for writing so late. **

Chapter 10

Panting with exertion, Harry, Hermione, and Luna arrived outside the Professor's door. They could hear voices within. One was McGonogall herself – the accent was unmistakable – and the other was a man with a high voice.

"We can't let him go on like this; it's only a matter of time before he does something that can't just be dismissed as 'eccentric' and then he'll lose everything. He'll be sacked from Hogwarts and stripped of his titles." McGonogall paused, and her tone became more fearful. "We'll lose our best hope for survival if You-Know-Who comes back."

"I suppose we'll just have to keep a closer eye on him." The male voice said. A sigh was heard, and the speaker's footsteps grew louder. The door swung inward, revealing Professor Flitwick. "Ah, Miss Lovegood and company. Minerva, you have visitors." The tiny Charms Master smiled and ushered the trio inside.

Professor Flitwick stood to the side of the door, perhaps waiting for the students to state their business. Professor McGonogall was seated at her desk, her glasses dangling from one hand while the other cupped her forehead, which gravity seemed to be affecting more than usual. She radiated doubt and exhaustion. Upon seeing her visitors, she furrowed her brow in confusion, and, replacing her glasses, checked the clock above the door. "I assume you're all aware that curfew is imminent?"

Hermione nodded feverishly. "Yes, ma'am, but we felt that this couldn't wait until morning."

McGonogall rolled her eyes incredulously. "What's happened now? Is the Headmaster dueling the diary in the halls? Has he transfigured the lake into a sea of lemon drops?" She demanded listlessly.

"No," Hermione began. "We think we might know what petrified all those people. It's a basilisk! The house elves have been told to avoid the deadly gaze of something by wearing sunglasses, and Colin Creevey was looking through his camera! People just haven't been seeing it directly and that's why they've been petrified instead of killed! Spiders have been fleeing the school because they're afraid of the basilisk, Ginny was forced to kill roosters against her will because they could have killed the basilisk, and Harry's been hearing whispers that no one else can hear, because he's a parselmouth!" She blurted out in a rush.

McGonogall had been nodding along with Hermione's explanation, and her head came to a stop as Hermione finished. For a moment, she simply sat. "A basilisk." She stated, unblinking, appearing to stare right through Hermione. "Certainly. Why not?" She turned to Professor Flitwick, who was conjuring several pairs of goggles with thick, pitch-black lenses. "Filius, are you up for killing a basilisk at some point this evening?" She inquired flippantly, flinging her hands up in defeat.

The little professor smiled widely. Really, it was more a display of teeth than a smile – Harry imagined this was what a happy goblin looked like. Flitwick handed the Transfiguration Mistress a pair of goggles. "Thought you'd never ask."

Suddenly, a small formation of house elves appeared, blocking the doorway. An elf Harry and Hermione did not recognize stepped forward. "We is to be keeping the students and staff safe while the problem is being taken care of. We is going to be informing you's when the danger is passed."

"And who is taking care of the problem? The Headmaster?" McGonogall demanded.

"No, Dobby is taking care of the problem." The elf replied, somewhat uneasily. "Dobby is assuring us that he is knowing what he is doing." He did not seem all that convinced.

"Has the Headmaster been consulted about this?" McGonogall ground out.

"We is thinking that he should be told, but Dobby is pointing out that Professor Dumbly is giving house elves standing permission to take care of pest problems, and Dobby is reasoning that we is dealing with a very large pest." The elf explained hesitantly.

"Please tell this 'Dobby' to meet me in the Headmaster's office in five minutes." McGonogall ordered.

"Yes, ma'am." The elf replied with a bow, and he vanished along with the rest of his posse.

McGonogall stood to leave, and Professor Flitwick handed everyone a pair of goggles. "These are designed to filter dark magic, and I believe they should protect us from the basilisk's gaze. Do not remove them until we tell you it is safe to do so."

Harry put his goggles on and was surprised to find that he could still see perfectly. He didn't see how the inky black lenses would permit any light to pass, but somehow, they did.

Luna put her goggles on and immediately frowned. "These filter _all _magic, don't they, sir? The world looks very dull this way." She commented sadly.

"Yes, Miss Lovegood. But dark magic is a subset of all magic, so we should be protected, even if the world appears less bright to the gifted among us." He smiled at his fellow Ravenclaw.

"You three will come with us – we can't have anyone wandering the corridors with the beast on the loose somewhere." With that, Professor McGonogall led the way to the Headmaster's office.

They were ushered in by the stone gargoyle and made the short journey up the steps to the inner doors, which were open a crack. McGonogall gently pushed them open and the party entered to find the Headmaster bent over his desk with a turkey baster, slowly releasing droplets of water onto the evil diary. "Talk, damn you! Tell me how you attacked them!" He muttered, not noticing his visitors.

McGonogall cleared her throat, causing Dumbledore's head to snap up in surprise. He quickly threw the turkey baster behind him, apparently abhorring the thought of others witnessing him torturing a book. "Minerva," he began with a smile. "Filius, how can I help you at this late hour? Have you brought me some serial curfew breakers?" He inquired, eyes twinkling at the trio of students before him.

"No, Albus." McGonogall replied in clipped tones. "We've been informed that a basilisk has been attacking the students, and we've also deduced that a house elf called Dobby intends to get rid of the beast himself." She finished gravely.

Right on cue, Dobby popped into the room. His huge, bulbous eyes settled first on Harry, though his gaze seemed unfocused. "Oh, Harry Potter!" He hicupped. "Dobby is exershising his problem-sholving skills, HarryPudderSir." Dobby then conjured the biggest pair of aviator sunglasses Harry had ever seen. They were easily six feet across. "Dobby is going to stop the problem at the source this time. Big sunglasses will do it. Dobby is almost having the courage to go through with it, sir. One more liter, Dobby thinks." With that, Dobby withdrew a bottle of butterbeer from his pillowcase and proceeded to chug it with vigor, causing some of it to dribble down his chin.

"...you're going to put sunglasses on the _basilisk_?" Hermione demanded incredulously.

"Harry Potter Sir's Grangey ish very quick and wise. Dobby was not allowed to tell, but Harry Potter Sir's Grangey has figured it out. Dobby musht go now to be doing battle with the bassylisk." To Harry's confusion and then utter horror, Dobby conjured a ping-pong paddle with a nail sticking out of it. Hermione cringed. The mad elf then conjured a bandana and folded it into a blindfold, which he put on with a look of grim determination. While he was blindfolding himself, McGonogall surreptitiously transfigured the nail into a feather. "If Dobby does not survives the bassylisk and his punishment, Dobby wishes Harry Potter Sir and his Grangey and Miss Loveygood a happy life."

"Dobby, you can't-" Hermione began imploringly, but the elf had already vanished with a pop.

"Spatchcock!" Dumbledore called out.

McGonogall cocked an eyebrow. "Is that a new word for your next commencement feast speech?" She inquired.

"No," Dumbledore began petulantly, "it's-" Spatchcock the house elf popped in. Dumbledore gestured to the elf. "It's an elf, thank you." He explained smugly. "Spatchcock, can you take me to Dobby?" He asked kindly.

Spatchcock nodded hesitantly. "Spatchcock can be doing that Sir, but Dobby is in double-emergency-storage at the moment. He is saying the problem is there. Is Sir being sure he wants to go?" He inquired.

"Yes, I'm certain." Dumbledore stood and came around his desk, preparing to take Spatchcock's hand.

"Hold on a moment, Albus. It would be foolish to go alone." Professor Flitwick stepped forward, gripping his wand in anticipation.

"I'd be wasting my time if I tried to convince you to stay, I'm sure." Dumbledore said with a smile.

"I suppose you two expect me to just stay behind, then?" McGonogall shook her head in disbelief. "Two might be enough for a waltz, but a basilisk is considerably more serious. I'll join you and keep my distance in case I have to portkey one of you to the hospital wing." She insisted.

"This will be exciting." Luna said, clapping her hands together lightly. "Daddy will be jealous that I got to see a basilisk in person."

McGonogall snorted. "Miss Lovegood, it would be far too dangerous to allow you three to come along. You can stay here while we sort this basilisk out."

Dumbledore was clearing his throat and shaking his head subtly. "Is there a problem with that, Albus?" McGonogall inquired patiently.

"It wouldn't be safe to leave the children here with the diary." He insisted. "And it wouldn't be a good idea to bring the diary along, as it might issue commands to the basilisk. I'm sure Mr. Potter, Miss Granger and Miss Lovegood would be quite alright with their goggles – a safe distance from the danger, with you, Minerva. Besides," he added. "Mr. Potter's Parseltongue may allow us to resolve this peacefully if the basilisk is a reasonable sort." He suggested, eyes twinkling merrily. He conjured himself a pair of goggles.

The Transfiguration Mistress rolled her eyes and shook her head, but ultimately sighed and took Harry's hand while offering her other hand to Professor Flitwick. Harry got the idea and took Hermione's hand, and Hermione took Luna's. Flitwick grabbed Dumbledore's arm and nodded to him, signaling that he was ready. Dumbledore turned to Spatchcock. "Spatchcock, if you'd please take us near Dobby but keep your distance from the action?" The elf took his hand, and suddenly, with no drama at all, they were shrouded in darkness. The professors lit their wands, and their cavernous surroundings came into view.

"Dobby was near here, Professor Dumbly Sir. He is being gone now – I is thinking he is finished with what he is doing.

A squeak was heard, and all three professors immediately trained their wands on the source. Rather than a fearsome basilisk, though, it turned out to be a rat. The rat was pinned beneath the huge aviators they had seen Dobby conjure moments prior. It seemed that Dobby had missed. "He probably just banished them toward whatever made a sound first." Harry muttered. Hermione sucked a breath in through her teeth, sympathizing with the rat, who was still squeaking plaintively. His only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"A decent hypothesis." Dumbledore nodded. He and the Charms Master slowly advanced through the dank chamber while Professor McGonogall began conjuring a bunker with chest-high walls around herself and the three students. Harry, Hermione and Luna peered over the wall, watching the ball of light around the professors growing smaller and smaller as they soldiered on. After they had gotten about a hundred feet away, Harry heard a voice echo in the chamber.

"_Whooo isssss thisssss?"_ The basilisk stirred.

"_Friendsssss." _Harry replied. _"Do not harm the men approaching you."_

"_A ssssspeaker?" _The basilisk's voice betrayed surprise. _"I sssserve only the heir... You are not friendssss of the heir... You will not be ssssspared."_

Harry turned to McGonogall to report, only to find that both she and Hermione were staring at him in awe. Luna appeared to be straining her ears, trying in vain to pick up the nuances of the basilisk's speech. "What's he saying?" Hermione demanded.

"Negotiations just broke down, I think." Harry replied nervously.

"Albus, Filius, the basilisk isn't being 'reasonable!'" McGonogall called out. "Be careful." She added desperately.

There was a great rumbling and sliding sound as the basilisk moved its hulking body over the smooth stone floor, and the beast came into view. _"I wassss hungry anyway..."_

Dumbledore and Flitwick aimed a furious barrage of spellfire at the huge serpent, but this did little more than antagonize it. The beast advanced on the comparatively tiny humans, but the professors did not give any ground. Dumbledore engorged and transfigured one of the many animal ribcages littering the floor into a huge ivory prison cell, but the basilisk whipped its head through the bones, reducing them to dust and hissing angrily at the two men.

"Filius, the hide is too strong. Aim for the eyes!" Dumbledore cried as he whipped immense plumes of flame to and fro, keeping the basilisk in check.

"Avis!" Flitwick shrieked, conjuring a great flock of birds. "Engorgio!" He added, and the birds grew to be the size of bicycles and began to attack the basilisk, pecking at its head, distracting the beast from the two professors. The snake struck repeatedly, thinning the flock a bit more every second.

This appeared to give Dumbledore an idea, as he raised his hand into the air and called out "Fawkes!" The Headmaster's phoenix appeared, emerging from white-hot flames above his owner. Dumbledore immediately grabbed the mythical bird's leg and the two were quickly ascending to the upper reaches of the chamber.

Meanwhile, Professor Flitwick was facing off against the basilisk with nothing more than a couple of wounded birds to aid him. The former dueling champion was being forced on the defensive, conjuring powerful physical shields to block the snake's strikes. He seemed to cast shield spells that were anchored to his body, as he was forced back with every blow the serpent delivered. Suddenly, there was a spray of blood as Fawkes dive-bombed the distracted basilisk and tore into its eye. The wounded creature reared back, hissing in agony and flailing wildly. Dark-colored curses were being flung down from above – Dumbledore wanted the beast's attention.

The basilisk coiled itself to strike at Dumbledore, who was still flinging spells from his lofty perch. Professor Flitwick had ceased his assault, trusting that the Headmaster had a plan. The huge snake seemed to explode upward, jaws wide open and baring its terrible fangs, but Dumbledore was ready. He cast the biggest fireball any of them had ever seen straight into the snake's open mouth, and it fell to the ground writhing in agony. The fireball seemed to be consuming it from within – it was striking at its own body, huge fangs piercing the thick scales that had repelled their spells. A pool of blood was rapidly growing around the beast, and its strikes were becoming weaker and less frequent.

Suddenly, a white light issued forth from the basilisk's mouth, and Fawkes climbed out, slimy and shrieking in triumph. The fireball had just been a cover for the phoenix. The orange bird continued his triumphant song, flying up to Dumbledore and returning him to the ground. As the Headmaster dusted himself off, the phoenix perched on his shoulder.

Flitwick and Dumbledore began to retreat to McGonogall's bunker. Flitwick was clutching a bleeding and bruised arm, but still smiling. "Brilliant work, Albus!" The tiny man commended.

"Thank you, Filius. The old 'Trojan fireball with a phoenix inside' trick. Works every time!" Dumbledore explained.

"I've actually never heard of that before." Flitwick said skeptically.

"That would make sense, considering I just made it up." Dumbledore nodded. He looked to the bird on his shoulder, whose song had trailed off. He adjusted his goggles and examined his familiar. "Is that his blood or yours?" He inquired.

Fawkes seemed to cackle. Harry had a feeling this meant it was basilisk blood.

"It's a good color on you. You'd think it would clash, but somehow it doesn't." Dumbledore nodded approvingly.

Fawkes trilled in appreciation of the compliment.

Hermione conjured a large pair of pliers, and, offering them to Dumbledore, suggested that he might want to take a fang from the basilisk for further study. When she noticed people were giving her strange looks, she decided to clarify. "It might be possible to learn something from the venom. Also, my parents are dentists." She blushed and averted her gaze from the Headmaster. "If you don't want it, I'm sure my dad would love to have it just to look at. He'd probably make it into an umbrella handle or something."

"Is 'dentist' another word for big game hunter?" Luna inquired curiously.

**I noticed the forum option on my profile, and now I'm considering making one. I might use it to share other, shorter things that I've written, or just update you on story progress. Or I suppose we could all use it to speculate on the contents of Ron's other dreams. I don't know about you, but I smell waffles. So what do you guys think about having a forum?**


	11. Chapter 11

**There's currently a poll up on my profile regarding the issue of whether to keep this as a Harry/Hermione story or whether to add Luna to the relationship. I'm pretty sure I'm leaving it the way it is, but I'm open to the idea of a spin-off or alternate version with Luna.**

**Those of you who were disappointed by the basilisk battle will be happy to know that there is more action in this chapter, and it's going to be substantially more awesome. I'll give you one hint regarding the scenario: RED DEATH. And no, that doesn't mean I'm killing off Ron. **

**As always, I enjoy reading your reviews.**

Chapter 11

Having been extracted from the Chamber of Secrets by house elves, the trio began making their way to bed. Hermione was explaining dentistry to Luna with mixed results. Luna had been eager to hear about muggle tooth healing, but things took a downturn when Hermione mentioned drilling.

"Why would you drill a hole in the tooth to fix a hole in the tooth?" Luna mused aloud, shaking her head in wonder.

"They don't just leave the hole," Hermione quickly explained. "They fill it with ceramic or metal so that nothing can rot the tooth any further. They remove the bad parts and replace them with good parts to make the tooth stronger." She attempted to reassure the confused Ravenclaw.

"That's fascinating. It's amazing what muggles come up with." Luna yawned. "I'm not sure I'll be able to stay awake to write Daddy about the basilisk. I might have to do it tomorrow."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep for days." She muttered.

"Me neither," Harry offered. "That was probably the most amazing thing I've ever seen - and I saw a Dark Lord eating a unicorn once." Harry shook his head at his own strange luck. "Dumbledore might be old and weird, but he's still got serious moves. So does Flitwick."

Luna smiled. "He was a dueling champion when he was younger. One of the best in Europe. Every once in a while someone will ask him about it, and by the end of the story, most of the common room will be listening." Pausing, she giggled. "Sometimes - if he's in the right mood - he re-enacts the duels. He'll conjure a dummy that just fires different colored sparks, and then he'll turn the common room into a warzone. We asked him why he wasn't part of the dueling club, and he mentioned something about Snape having called dibs on dueling Lockhart before the term even started."

Harry chuckled. "That doesn't surprise me. I imagine the line of people wanting to duel Lockhart is pretty long. Pity one didn't finish the other off."

Hermione sighed. "Would've been nice, I suppose. Maybe we could've had a Potions or Dark Arts Professor who actually taught instead of just wasting our time." She shook her head in exasperation. "Maybe we could've had someone in the middle of the hairstyle spectrum instead of the extremes." She snickered. "Snape's hair is an awful mystery, and Lockhart's is a conceited work of art."

"Speaking of hair, Hermione, I love your ears. The goggles allowed me to see through your glamours." Luna squinted at the top of Hermione's head, willing herself to see through the magic concealing the ears.

Harry expected Hermione to be upset or shocked, but she just sighed resignedly and smiled. "Thank you, Luna. You, Harry, and the Professors are the only ones who know about them. I trust you not to tell anyone. I think some people might react badly."

"I understand, and I won't tell." Luna assured her, glad to be part of another secret. "Does Harry ever pet you? I imagine it would feel very nice. Cats seem to like having their ears scratched."

Hermione blushed scarlet. "Sometimes." She coughed. She walked on a few steps in silence, contemplating something. At length, she released Harry's hand, which she'd been holding for the better part of an hour, and took Luna's. She then brought Luna's hand up to her head. "Feel them." She offered.

Luna's eyes went even wider than usual, and she rewarded Hermione with a smile. Luna tentatively stroked Hermione's ears as they walked, and Hermione appeared to be fighting back laughter. "It tickles." She explained. Eventually, Luna reluctantly pulled her hand away and came to a stop.

"Luna?" Hermione asked, a bit confused.

"This is the way to Ravenclaw tower." She pointed down a corridor to her right. "At least, it's the way I know from here. I suppose there could be another one," she conceded, "but tonight, this one will have to do." Luna gave a little wave and turned to leave, but she felt a touch on her shoulder and turned around to find Hermione's arms wrapped around her, then Harry's.

"Goodnight, Luna." Hermione said into the silver-eyed girl's shoulder.

"Night, Luna." Harry murmured from somewhere in Hermione's hair.

Wrapped in warmth she had not known outside her own family, Luna was happy. "I really like having friends." She mused aloud, giving Hermione a squeeze.

* * *

Harry and Hermione reached Gryffindor tower, finding that there were a few people still in the common room. Ron was still on the couch, slumped over and lightly dusted with cake crumbs. Someone had placed an alarm clock on the table in front of him to reduce the chance that he would miss class. It was easier than levitating him upstairs, and it still fulfilled the Gryffindor boys' unspoken "no man left behind" policy.

As Harry and Hermione approached their respective dormitory staircases, Hermione grabbed Harry's hand. Harry was surprised and concerned, and looked around to see if anyone was watching. He gave the bushy-haired witch a questioning look.

Hermione pulled him close. "Ron knows now, plus he's asleep and can't exactly protest. Why hide?" She shrugged with a smile.

Harry returned her smile and drew her in for a kiss. "See you soon." He whispered.

Resuming their public voices, they bade each other goodnight and separated.

A few minutes later, an invisible Hermione was creeping into the Gryffindor second year boys' dormitory. The sneaking was beginning to feel a bit routine, but that didn't detract from the excitement of sleeping with her wizard. She pulled back the curtain of Harry's four-poster, expecting to see his smiling face silently welcoming her inside, but instead found him already asleep.

Hermione folded the invisibility cloak and tucked it between her head and the pillow. Before lying down, she took a moment to just watch Harry breathe. She reached out to him, lovingly brushing the messy black hair away from his forehead. She bent over him and gently pressed a kiss to his cheek, and finally settled in beside him, nuzzling the back of his neck. "Love you." She whispered, and closed her eyes.

* * *

"I could get used to this." Hermione mumbled into Harry's chest. She and Harry had awoken tangled in one another's arms - it was her new favorite way to wake up - and had immediately set their minds to more cuddling. Harry was propped up against the headboard, and he had a lap full of beautiful witch. She had curled up there and silently demanded that he pet her, so he'd begun stroking her ears and back, planting the occasional kiss on her forehead, purposefully ignoring the distress signals from the legs on which Hermione was resting. "Again, you make a convincing case for staying in bed, Harry."

"I didn't say anything." Harry laughed.

"I know." The very content witch sighed. "I love you."

"Love you too, Mione." Harry replied, giving her a light squeeze and slowly dragging his fingers through her wild hair. "Do you suppose Dumbledore's going to say anything about the basilisk?"

"Maybe." Hermione rubbed her cheek against Harry's bare chest. "He might just say that the danger has passed, without mentioning specifically what it was."

"Yeah." Harry agreed. "I'm guessing parents wouldn't take the 'basilisk under the school' story that well. Then again, they were already upset over the attacks. I don't envy the Headmaster right now."

* * *

Hermione nudged Harry as they were eating breakfast. "Are you _sure_ you don't envy the Headmaster, Harry? You're not jealous of his new shoes?" She asked, stifling a laugh and pointing discreetly to the man's feet. Albus Dumbledore was clearly wearing basilisk hide slippers. They were a _very_ familiar shade of green, and they were scaly. The conclusion was inescapable. The couple also noticed that Hagrid was presenting Professor McGonogall with a new handbag, also quite shiny and scaly. Professor Flitwick occasionally looked under the table, admiring his new basilisk hide boots and smiling to himself.

Harry chuckled and shook his head. "Should I ask Hagrid if there's enough left over to make you a purse like McGonogall's?" He asked playfully.

Hermione snorted. "Did you not see the size of that thing? I bet there's enough left for a full set of luggage and a tent."

"Hmm." Harry stroked his chin, deep in thought. "What about a basilisk hide dust jacket for your copy of Hogwarts, A History?"

Hermione's eyes grew round as saucers and she bit her lower lip, clearly imagining owning such an item. "That _would_ be nice..."

Just then, however, Draco Malfoy – flanked as always by his lackeys – decided to come by the Gryffindor table and ruin the couple's high spirits. "Oy, Potter!" He crowed. "I heard you've been spending quite a bit of time with Looney Lovegood. I knew you had a thing for Mudbloods, but I didn't know you liked the crazy ones, too!" He laughed. "Or maybe it's just charity cases – are you trying to build a Harem of Rejects?" He guffawed at his own hateful joke.

Ron had turned red as soon as Malfoy had opened his mouth. Upon hearing Luna and Hermione be called rejects, he'd picked up a silver serving platter and thrown it at the blonde ponce, striking him squarely between the eyes. Malfoy was cut deeply, and was now literally seeing red as he blinked blood out of his eyes and hurled a stinging hex at Ron, who fell out of his seat, yelping in pain.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted, and Malfoy's wand shot out of his hand.

"STOP." Snape's voice rang out. "Petrificus." Suddenly neither Harry nor Malfoy could move.

Snape strode up to the site of the confrontation, robes billowing behind him in a way that suggested he'd spent a lot of time figuring out how to make them do that. His beady black eyes shifted between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins. "Finite." He muttered, pointing his wand at Draco and catching him as he fought to regain his balance. "Explain." Snape commanded.

"Malfoy-" Hermione began, but Snape cut her off.

"I was **speaking** to Mr. Malfoy, and I will thank you not to interrupt." Snape said without looking at Hermione.

"Potter and Weasley attacked me, Sir." Draco groaned plaintively, clutching his bleeding forehead for effect.

"Detention, Potter, Weasley. Tonight." Snape said with a sadistic grin. "You'll be-"

"They'll be doing whatever it is I assign them." Professor McGonogall had seen the chaos and had come down from the head table to intervene. "Finite." She muttered, releasing Harry from Snape's spell. "My students, my house. I will determine their punishment, Severus. I suggest you have a word with young Mr. Malfoy about picking fights before he picks a fight in an establishment with sharper flatware."

Snape rolled his eyes and grabbed Draco's arm, hauling him away.

Harry fumed while Ron rubbed his chest with a pained look on his face. "Right in the nipple." He mumbled. "Rather have had it in the _eye._"

* * *

It turned out that detention consisted of Harry and Ron accompanying Hagrid into the forbidden forest in search of rare ingredients for the mandrake restorative draught. The three of them trekked into the woods, lanterns trained on the ground, which was teeming with spiders.

Ron was becoming increasingly unstable. His high-pitched muttering was pretty much constant, and the air was bitter cold. Harry hadn't minded the cold on his date with Hermione – they'd kept each other warm. But out here in the forest, he sorely missed his witch.

After half an hour of fruitless searching, Ron was asking Hagrid if they could give up. Hagrid was also growing disheartened, and appeared ready to call it quits when, through the trees, a light appeared. Shortly afterward, another appeared. The lights were growing closer, and the sound of crackling leaves and twigs suggested that the approaching lights were associated with something massive. Soon, though, the sound of crackling undergrowth gave way to the low idle of Arthur Weasley's Ford Anglia. "Oh," Ron sighed in relief. "It's just the car." The car approached them slowly, nearly coming to a stop in front of Ron. However, rather than stopping, it lurched forward, pushing Ron over so that he landed on his rear.

Ron leapt up from the forest floor, immediately smacking his own behind to brush off spiders which, strangely, were not there. "Can we please go back now?" Ron huffed, kicking one of the tires on the Anglia.

"What happened to the spiders?" Harry wondered aloud.

They didn't have to wait long to find out.

"Oh..." Hagrid said in a low voice, squinting into the distance. Dozens of eyes were reflected among the trees. The half-giant held out his lantern, casting light over several 12-foot spiders. Ron let out a shriek and ran to hide behind Hagrid. "Listen, now, gents." He began, slowly sidestepping closer to Harry. "We're not here to cause any trouble. We're just lookin' for some herbs. We'll just be goin' now."

And just when Harry thought he couldn't be more unnerved, one of the beasts spoke.

"No." It clicked its pincers. "We have business with you, humans."

Harry could see Ron's pupils shrink to tiny points while all the color drained from his face. He appeared to be frozen in place and had not moved with Hagrid. A tiny moan issued from the ginger's parted lips, though it was so faint it sounded like someone screaming from a mile away. Ron's psyche was crumbling rapidly, and Harry couldn't think of any way to help him.

"Use a cheerin' charm or summat, Harry! He's no use just standin' 'ere!" Hagrid bellowed, cocking his crossbow in preparation for a fight.

Harry had never performed a cheering charm before. He'd seen it done once or twice, and it was nearly always done as a practical joke. Still panicking, he leveled his wand at his friend and squeaked out the incantation as best he could remember. There was a loud bang, and the area where Ron had stood was now obscured with thick smoke.

"Ron..?" Harry called out tentatively.

There was silence for a moment, but then a voice rang out from somewhere within the smoke. "RONNIE'S NOT AFRAID ANYMORE." Harry heard rapid footsteps and backed himself into a tree. Half a second later, Ron was upon him. He looked eerily happy, but somehow very... off. Ron was inches from Harry's face, grinning like he'd found a pie the size of Everest and was determined to eat it in a single bite.

"Harry's afraid." Harry whispered, cowering beneath Ron's demented leer.

Ron looked like he wanted to scream something to the heavens, and the effort of keeping it in was about to make his face explode with joy. But instead of exploding, he just let out a little giggle and sprinted toward Hagrid. "RONNIE'S GONNA RAIN ON THE SPIDER PARADE." He cackled, grabbing the huge machete off of Hagrid's belt with admirable speed, never breaking his stride. Super-cheered Ron moved like a gazelle on PCP.

"RONNIE'S GONNA CUT DOWN THE SPIDER BRIGADE." He roared, and charged straight at the horde of acromantulas.

Hagrid lowered his crossbow for fear of hitting Ron. "Wha're ye _doin'_ Ron?" He bellowed in confusion. The mad ginger took a flying leap and slashed a large acromantula right across the face. The beast let out a gurgling shriek, convulsed, and fell over dead. Harry and Hagrid gaped in amazement.

Ron had never stopped slashing, though. Ron and the machete moved like a weed whacker through a forest of spider legs, hobbling half a dozen of the beasts in a few seconds. Ron was speed-painting with acromantula blood, and _the world was his canvas._ The lucky ones who had been at the rear of the pack began to retreat, scattering in different directions. Ron flung the machete at one of the runners and managed to pin its leg to a tree. Looking very much like a bug-eyed, ginger angel of death, he took aim at the pinned beast with his wand, and without uttering a word unleashed a spell that caused the spider to explode.

As a fine mist of entrails settled over them, Ron fell to his knees in the dirt. He turned to face Harry and Hagrid. His eyes were glassy and the grin was fading. "Life gave me spiders, so I made spider-ade." He mumbled, and fainted.

Hagrid walked up to the fallen boy and nudged him gently with his massive boot. "Le's hope he don't remember this." He muttered.

Harry cleaned the film of spider guts from his glasses and nodded in wide-eyed agreement.

A wizened voice in the distance made both of them start. The half-giant cocked his crossbow. "Is that you, Hagrid? We come in peace. That group you just destroyed really should have introduced themselves better."

"Aragog?" Hagrid cried with relief, lowering his weapon. "You dunno how glad I am to see you." He chuckled, striding in the direction of the voice.

"What are you doing?" Harry hissed.

"Oh, s'alright, Harry! Aragog's an old friend – wouldn' hurt a flea." He waved his hand dismissively. "Jus' follow me."

Hesitantly, and clutching his wand tightly, Harry stepped over an unconscious Ron and followed.

Aragog turned out to be a grayish acromantula. He was in fact the largest of the bunch, but somehow he didn't seem all that threatening. More of the creatures were clustered around him, though they kept their distance from Hagrid and Harry.

Hagrid apologized profusely for being party to the destruction of Aragog's kin and attempted to explain that Ron wasn't in control of himself, but Aragog waved the apology off with a sweep of one of his many massive legs. "That was my stepson, Tyrone, and his family. Nobody liked Tyrone." There were clicks of general agreement from the group behind him. "Besides, I've got dozens of sons, so it's not a huge loss." He chuckled. "The only reason we've come to the edge of the forest is to thank whoever-" Aragog clicked his pincers and seemed to sniff the air. He looked at Harry. "Was it you? Did you slay the serpent? I can smell the blood on you!"

"Oh no!" Harry clarified. "I just watched. Our Headmaster and Charms Professor killed the basilisk. We did help figure out that a basilisk was what we were looking for, though." Harry paused and sniffed his own shoulder. "Wait, you can still smell it? I've showered since then..." He trailed off, seriously worried about his personal hygiene.

"Well then, my boy, I'm in your debt! We could hear that awful thing for miles around – gave us all chills." Aragog shivered. Harry concluded that things with that many legs shouldn't be able to shiver. It was disconcerting.

In the end, the acromantulas asked Harry and Hagrid to pass their thanks to Dumbledore, gave them a fruit basket and told them they should feel free to visit any time. Hagrid bade Aragog a fond farewell and began leading the way back to Hogwarts. They found Ron awake, propped up against a tree trunk, clutching his head and emitting a long, continuous moan.

"What happened?" Ron asked, rubbing his temples.

"Er..." Harry weighed his options. He _could _tell Ron that he'd briefly become an unstoppable, rhyming engine of spider genocide, but the consequences would be dire. Ron would probably either be bragging for years or he'd die of shock right there on the dirty forest floor. "You fainted when the acromantulas showed up, but it turns out they just wanted to talk." Harry replied.

"Probably for the best." Ron nodded. "Whose blood is this?" He asked with mild interest, inspecting his red-streaked robes.

Harry panicked. "S'not blood." He replied in a rush. "It's... uh... jam. The acromantulas brought jam, and things got a little wild. It's all gone now."

"Sounds like a party." Ron nodded, closing his eyes.

Hagrid surveyed the boys and the car. "S'pose you two'll have to drive. Reckon I'm too big to fit." He chuckled. "I'll jus' walk. Don't go too far ahead, eh?"

Harry walked around to the passenger side of the car and got in, but Ron couldn't get the driver's side door open. The car honked angrily. Ron beat the window in anger, but immediately regretted it, withdrawing his hand and rubbing his bruised knuckles. "I don't think it wants you to drive." Harry mused aloud. The car honked again. "Is that right? Do you want me to drive?" Harry asked, directing the question to the dash. The car bounced on its front wheels as if nodding. Harry slid over into the driver's seat while Ron huffed angrily and stalked around to the passenger side.

While Harry carefully drove the car back toward the light of the castle, Ron immediately tucked into the fruit basket the acromantulas had given them. Harry glanced at the basket, which Ron seemed determined to consume before they reached Hogwarts, and then returned his attention to the path ahead. "Wait," he muttered. "Where'd they get pineapple?"

"Dunno." Ron said around a mouthful of said pineapple. "S'good though."

"You're just going to dig right into that, eh? Don't you wonder how they picked it? They had to touch it at some point. And with what? The pincers? The big, hairy legs?" Ron turned green and stuck his head out the window just in time to splatter the door with chunks of masticated fruit. The car laid on the horn in protest.

"Ohhh... Oh Merlin, why didn't I think of that?" Ron moaned, still hanging limply out the window.

"Oh, and Ron? It's not really jam, so... don't lick it or anything." Harry winced as Ron retched once more. The car ground a gear.

"I don't think I'll ever eat again." Ron choked out.

"I doubt that." Harry muttered.

"Ugh." Ron groaned. He had dragged his head back into the car, and was now eyeing the fruit basket with disgust. "You want any of this?" He asked, gesturing toward the basket as if it was full of manure.

"Do I _what_?" Harry repeated incredulously.

"Y'know. For Hermione or something." Ron clarified with a shrug, holding the basket at arm's length and trying to wedge it between the windshield and the dash.

"Do I want to give my girlfriend a basket of questionable fruit that I got from _giant spiders_? That's your bloody question?" He hissed.

Ron shoved the basket out the window and threw his hands up in defeat. "I'll take that as a no, then." He said petulantly, clearly taking offense. He folded his arms over his chest and watched the trees pass outside his window. Harry just shook his head and urged the car forward.

**And from that day forward, Ron was known to Scottish acromantulas as the Red Death.**


	12. Chapter 12

**I won't be changing this story based on feedback. I mostly wanted to gauge interest in future stories with Luna. It seems like a lot of you are interested in a Lunar Harmony story, but this isn't going to be that story. Until I get around to creating such a story, HarryLuna fans may want to check out It's the Hair. I wrote it for a friend who is a Dramione fan. Had to put Harry and Luna in to quell my nausea.**

Chapter 12

When the party reached Hagrid's hut, there was a bit of an argument over where and how to park the car. The consensus was that they should keep it somewhere for Arthur to pick up – the car was his, despite its extended period of independence. Harry and Hagrid suggested that it should be parked at Hagrid's hut, as it would be out of the way of students but easy for Hagrid to keep an eye on. Ron, however, argued that they should drive the car all the way into the Gryffindor common room, securing themselves the honorable distinction of "best entrance ever" that they had been denied when they crashed the car on approach.

Harry pointed out that the professors weren't likely to appreciate such an entrance, and that there probably wouldn't be that many Gryffindors awake to see it anyway. Ron insisted that there couldn't possibly be a rule against parking a muggle car in a common room, as there was no way the situation could have come up before. He grinned smugly and crossed his arms over his chest as if he'd won the argument. Harry was just about to ask Ron if he thought there was a specific rule against crashing flying cars into sentient trees when Hagrid jumped in.

"If it's not already a rule, I reckon they'd make it a rule just for you, Ron." Hagrid declared in exasperation. "'Arry, take Ron to the hospital wing and make sure Madame Pomfrey looks 'im over. That was a nasty smack on the head and there's no point takin' a chance on it." He finished, pointing at Ron to stem the inevitable protest.

Minutes later, Harry found himself quietly relating the real story behind Ron's "head trauma" to the Hogwarts matron while an intern coaxed Ron into drinking a dreamless sleep potion.

"So then he just ran out of steam, finished the rhyme and fainted." Harry offered with a shrug.

"Extraordinary..." The older woman murmured, gazing fixedly at Ron from across the ward. "And you say he has no recollection of attacking the acromantulas?"

"So far as I can tell, no. It's like he was possessed." Harry whispered, watching the redhead in question out of the corner of his eye. "I've never seen him apply himself to something like that. Sure, he flies off the handle now and then, but this was... if killing giant spiders was an olympic event, England would've sent Ron." Harry shook his head in wonder.

"Fascinating." The witch shook her head. "I'll keep him here for observation, just in case the memories return or he has another... fit." She finished uncertainly. "Goodnight, Mr. Potter."

"Goodnight, ma'am." Harry echoed, and left the hospital wing, passing an already-snoring Ron. He then set a course for his dormitory, where he hoped a certain scantily-clad witch would be waiting for him.

* * *

As it turned out, Hermione was indeed waiting for him in his bed. After he'd brushed his teeth and changed into his pajamas, he parted the curtains to find her reading a textbook by wandlight, dressed in one of his school shirts and a pair of knickers. She greeted him with a sympathetic smile, reasoning that detention probably hadn't been pleasant. "Were you bitten by angry unicorns?" She asked jokingly as she rose up on her knees, taking a kneeling Harry into her arms.

"Not quite. Imagine being surrounded by twelve-foot spiders." He chuckled into her shoulder. She immediately pulled back in alarm.

"Are you alright? Did they hurt you?" Her eyes were wide with worry and her hands flitted about on the young wizard's body, trying to find an injury.

"They didn't hurt us. It turns out they just wanted to pass on their thanks for killing the basilisk. Ron sort of went berserk and murdered a few of them, though." He explained, his eyes unfocused as he recalled the gruesome, yet awe-inspiring scene.

"He did _what_?" Hermione hissed. "Has he started a war or something? Are they going to swarm the castle?"

"Nope." Harry shook his head. "Apparently Ron killed the giant spider equivalent of the Malfoy family. Nobody's going to miss them."

Hermione snorted and batted Harry's shoulder playfully. She drew him close again, planting a kiss on his neck and drawing in a Harry-scented breath. "How did _Ron_ of all people manage to kill a family of giant spiders? He's terrified of spiders. I would think he'd just faint at the sight of them."

Harry sucked a breath in through his teeth. "Actually, as far as Ron knows, that's exactly what happened."

"What?" Hermione demanded with that adorable look of indignant confusion.

"Funny story." Harry began hesitantly. "Let's lie down and I'll tell you."

* * *

Hermione had gotten a huge kick out of the story of Ron the spider-slayer. They looked for the ginger in question during breakfast, even going so far as to peek under the tablecloth, but he was nowhere to be found.

"Must still be in the hospital wing." Harry said with apprehension. He hated to think he might've caused Ron permanent damage. The boy hadn't been all there to begin with – he really couldn't afford any further decline in cognitive ability.

Hermione sensed Harry's concern. "I'm sure he's fine. Probably just milking it for all it's worth to miss a few lessons." She said with a wry smile, giving Harry's hand a squeeze.

But by the time Ron had missed all of lunch, even Hermione admitted her concern. The young couple made their way to the hospital wing to check up on their surely afflicted friend, only to find him in perfect health, though still in bed, playing chess and chatting amicably with the Headmaster.

Dumbledore appeared to be telling Ron a very engrossing story, and neither of the two were putting much thought into their moves. "...so then the Countess asked, 'Is that your wand, Albus, or are you just happy to see me?'"

Ron and the Headmaster erupted into guffaws, upsetting the chess board which had been balanced on Ron's knees. Both let out a groan of good-natured frustration. "Guess we'll have to play again, then?" The red-haired Gryffindor prompted with a twinkle in his eye.

"Wait," Harry murmured to Hermione. "I know that twinkle." He did. The very same twinkle was reflected in Dumbledore's eyes.

"Of course, Mr. Weasley. I simply couldn't bear not knowing which of us is the better player." With a wave of one of the old wizard's gnarled hands, the board reset itself and levitated inches over the bedsheets.

"Oh god," Hermione gasped. "It's catching... Ron's going to be senile soon if he isn't already." She suddenly turned to Harry with wide eyes. "Oh Harry – what if you _turned_ Ron senile?" She hissed urgently.

Harry looked simultaneously panicked and indignant. "I didn't _mean _to! I thought we were going to be eaten by giant spiders, we needed all the help we could get and Hagrid suggested a spell I'd never bloody practiced!" He hissed back.

Both children felt a tap on their shoulders and started, turning around to find the face of Madame Pomfrey. The older woman put a finger up to her lips to signal for silence. She then beckoned the two toward the door of the hospital wing and ushered them into the hall. "I apologize for startling you two, but I wanted to explain why Mr. Weasley is still here." She began, pausing to rub her neck awkwardly. She appeared to be searching for a sensible way to deliver a strange explanation.

"Mr. Weasley appears to have made a full recovery, and has not relapsed into violent behavior so far. I really doubt he'll have anything to worry about in the future, as it was just simple mind magic performed badly. If it'd been a bad memory charm, we'd have to worry, but a bad cheering charm isn't nearly as serious." She said reassuringly. "It's just..." She paused. "We're keeping Mr. Weasley so that we can observe the Headmaster." She blurted.

Harry and Hermione stood in silent confusion, waiting for everything to start making sense. "We've been somewhat concerned that the Headmaster is suffering a bit of..." She trailed off. "Absentmindedness in his old age." She finished slowly, letting the words go and hoping they would do the job.

"So Ron is a diagnostic test for dementia?" Hermione asked bluntly. "I can't tell if that's hilarious or completely reasonable." She turned to Harry. "Is it both?" She whispered, shrugging helplessly.

Harry returned the shrug.

Madame Pomfrey sighed. "I suppose dementia is one way to describe it, yes." The matron nodded. She kept nodding, biting her lip and looking into the distance over the young couple's heads. "But the two get along famously, and both are intent on reliving a number of Albus's stories, and his stories really are easier to analyze than his everyday conversations. We're just trying to..." She bit her lip again. "Gauge how much of his memory is true and how much is just wishful thinking."

Hermione had been nodding sympathetically, while Harry merely looked peeved at the idea that the most powerful wizard alive might be powerfully insane. "Please don't speak of this to anyone, you two." The nurse entreated them. "The Headmaster has always been eccentric, and there may be nothing wrong with him at all. Even if there is, he doesn't deserve to be treated like an invalid. He's done so much for us all..." Her voice had become melancholy, and she trailed off again, shaking her head.

"We'll keep it to ourselves, ma'am." Hermione assured her.

"When's Ron coming back?" Harry asked.

"Oh, I'm not sure." The matron said listlessly, pressing her ear to the door as muffled peals of laughter rang out from the ward. "I suppose they can't play chess forever."

Harry and Hermione gave the woman identical meaningful looks. "You haven't spent a lot of time with Ron, have you?" Harry asked slowly.

"Oh." Madame Pomfrey said flatly. "So it's chess and food with that one, is it?" She asked bleakly.

Harry and Hermione merely nodded.

"Best be off to class then." She sighed. "I'll tell Mr. Weasley you stopped by."

She opened the door to the ward, and part of the Headmaster's story was audible before it clicked shut. "So it turned out that it was _unicorn_ mating season, and we could've avoided the whole mess if I'd just brought paprika instead of garlic! The French were furious." The old man chortled.

* * *

"I sent my mum a letter about you staying with us this summer." Hermione said nervously over dinner. Ron was still absent, likely still palling around with the Headmaster.

"What exactly did you say?" Harry inquired, losing interest in his food.

"I told her your relatives treated you like a slave instead of family, and that they blame you for their problems when you've done nothing wrong." She carefully recited.

"Both technically true." Harry nodded. "Bit of an understatement, though." He muttered.

"Oh, I also mentioned that your cousin beats you up and never gets punished for it." She paused. "And that we're dating." She finished in a bit of a rush.

Harry's eyes bugged out in surprise, and he slowly finished chewing the roll he didn't remember putting in his mouth. "How do you think that's going to go over? 'Can I bring my boyfriend home to _live with me_ this summer, mum?'"

Hermione snorted. "I'm not stupid." She said, rolling her eyes. "I know the dating part is going to work against us, but it's not like it would be fair or easy for us to hide that from my parents. My mum's going to try to convince my dad." She said hopefully. "She said she wasn't sure yet if she'd tell him about the dating part." She muttered.

Harry flung his head back and let out a low groan. "Can't wait to see how that works out."

"I'm sure it'll be fine." Hermione said, though her words lacked conviction. "Plus, we're young. I could see him refusing if I was sixteen or something – then he'd be insisting that I'd do something stupid and hormonal with you."

"Would he be wrong?" Harry asked, smiling mischievously.

"_Yes._" Hermione answered, leaning into Harry and playfully pushing him. "We wouldn't be doing stupid, hormonal things. We'd be doing exciting, fun things in a responsible way." She reasoned, staring into Harry's eyes. She succeeded in making him blush.

Later that night, clad in her white silk slip – Harry's favorite – she continued to paint a picture of what their summer together could be like. "We wouldn't be spending the night together, but we could cuddle all day in the park. We could go on picnics, or go into town for Indian food whenever we felt like it." She murmured as Harry hovered over her, pressing his forehead into her own. He pressed his lips against hers. Hermione drew in a breath and continued.

"We could even go swimming. Have you ever been swimming?" She asked, stroking his cheek.

"No. I think Vernon specifically made sure I never learned... just in case." He chuckled.

"That's not funny, Harry." She sighed. "I'll teach you. Lots of potential for skin-on-skin contact in swimming." She smiled as Harry's fingertips traced her hipbone. "I might have to 'rescue' you a few times just for fun."

"I think I'd be OK with some... resuscitating." Harry said with an abundance of suaveness.

"I hope I can wait until you're in the water." Hermione giggled. Harry raked his fingers over the root of her tail, causing her to gasp. "You know, you make it hard to sleep, but you also make me want to stay in bed. It's maddening." She kissed the tip of Harry's nose.

Harry quirked an eyebrow, cupping her cream-colored cheek and fixing her with a smoldering gaze. "I feel no remorse."

* * *

Hermione and Harry came down to breakfast the next morning to find Ron still absent.

"Maybe he's still occupying the Headmaster." Harry suggested.

This prompted Hermione to scan the head table, looking for the bespectacled Supreme Mugwump, but what she found in Dumbledore's place made her jaw drop. Ron sat in robes of most opulent mauve, with some kind of beatnik hat and a large gold chain around his neck. In the Headmaster's chair. "Buh." Was all she could manage to say. She closed her eyes tightly, as if hoping the problem would take care of itself. But when she reopened them, Ron was still there, talking amicably to Professor McGonogall, who was acting as though this was an everyday occurrence.

Just then, she spotted movement under the table near Ron's feet. It was Poppy Pomfrey, bound and gagged, looking desperate and afraid, struggling uselessly to free herself.

"Oh god no." Hermione gasped, and gripped Harry's hand in fear.

Ron was now standing, gesturing for silence. "Students..." He boomed in a mockery of Dumbledore's wizened voice. "I have made a few changes to the cur- uh... curricu- um... the stuff we're going to teach. From now on, no Potions!" He pumped a fist in the air to the accompaniment of wild cheers from the student populace. "Also, other core classes will now be optional, and none of them will start before eleven in the morning!" More cheers.

"Potions will be replaced with a new course, Fundamentals of Quidditch, which I'll be teaching. It's mandatory if you're a bloke." Again the crowd erupted. "Girls can choose between Quidditch and cooking." There were high-pitched cheers. "I suppose if you're a poof, you can take cooking too." He conceded. There were scattered, somewhat lispy cheers.

"How can you lisp a _cheer?_" Harry demanded.

"I don't think you can." Hermione said wearily. Just then, she noticed that Ron was welcoming a large, purplish elephant wearing a monocle and chef's hat to the staff table. "This can't be real. There's no way-"

And then she awoke, finding a concerned Harry inches from her face. "Oh thank goodness." She sighed in relief.

**I think writing snippets of Dumbledore's glory days is just as much fun as writing dreams.**

**POOOOOOOONIIIIIIIIIIES**


	13. Chapter 13

**The next chapter will probably be a jump to the end of the year. I apologize for the shortness of this one. **

Chapter 13

Harry and Hermione went their separate ways to prepare for the day, eventually meeting in the common room. Harry had noticed a foot hanging off the side of Ron's bed, and, after sharing this information with Hermione, the young lovers had set off to visit the Hogwarts matron for information regarding the Headmaster's health. Poppy's smile was thin and a bit watery as she informed them that Albus Dumbledore's mind was not what it used to be, and that even great heroes could find themselves in decline.

"Who will take over as Headmaster, then?" Hermione asked with concern.

"That matter hasn't been settled yet, but I would expect either Professor McGonogall or Professor Flitwick. Both are experienced and capable." She sighed. "Albus was at the helm for so long..." She trailed off. "Long enough for his replacement to have picked up his best habits, I hope." She said with resolve. "Hogwarts was great before him, and it will still be great without him in charge."

"Will he stay to teach?" Harry inquired.

"That also hasn't been decided, but I wouldn't be surprised if he did. I can't picture him leaving this place - he's put so much of himself into Hogwarts. I imagine he'd put up quite a fight if we told him he had to go, and I'm quite sure that we'd lose." She smiled.

"Thank you for confiding in us, ma'am. We'll keep it to ourselves." Hermione's voice cracked, and she directed her gaze to the floor, likely hiding the beginnings of tears. Harry gave her hand a squeeze.

"I know you will, Miss Granger. And you, Mr. Potter. And do remember that there's no cause for sadness - the Headmaster is not unhappy, and he will still be with us for the remainder of the year." The nurse smiled wryly. "Perhaps next year Albus will spend his free time with Mr. Weasley. I believe they've still got a game to finish."

Days passed, during which Harry and Hermione anxiously awaited a reply from Hermione's mother. Finally, during breakfast one morning, a Hogwarts owl dropped a letter onto Hermione's toast. Knowing that no one but her parents would send her a hand-address envelope like the one she held, she frantically tore it open and read it at a blistering pace. Harry leaned in close, and, after savoring the smell of her hair, began reading as well.

_Dear Hermione,_

_It wasn't exactly an easy sell, but I did it. Now who's the magic one? I convinced your father of all people that you could have Harry stay with us all summer. There will be rules, of course, but I think I may yet be able to win the fight for your right to hold hands. I just need time._

_If Harry is really as amazing as you say, then I'm sure even your father can't hate him. I'm very interested to see if, as a married woman, I'll be immune to his "infinite green eyes." For someone who says romance novels are rubbish, you certainly sound like you could write one._

_Love, _

_Best Mum Ever_

"_Infinite green eyes?_" Harry repeated chidingly, locking his gaze with Hermione's.

"What?" She asked defensively. "They're like laser beams. They're mesmerizing." She shrugged as if the whole thing was Harry's fault.

"They are very striking." Luna offered from Hermione's other side.

"Aren't they?" Hermione insisted, turning to agree with the fair-haired girl.

Harry blushed and stroked Hermione's knee under the table, though he averted his gaze in embarrassment. "Your eyes are better."

The owl that had delivered Hermione's letter was engaged in an intense staring contest with Ron, who was slowly waving a rasher of bacon in the owl's peripheral vision, trying to break its concentration. The owl merely hooted and narrowed its eyes. Seconds passed. Tentatively, Harry reached between the two to fetch some jelly. The owl suddenly screeched in Ron's face, causing him to blink and jump back. In that split-second of disorientation, the owl had broken off a piece of bacon and taken flight.

"I'm _sorry_," Ron yelled at the retreating owl. "I thought owls were capable of playing _fair!_"

"Owls are alright, but they're not averse to attacking you when your back is turned." Luna said thoughtfully to no one in particular.

Hermione shook her head. "Ron, it's a _bird_."

"You're a bird..." Ron muttered sullenly, nibbling what was left of his bacon.

"You're a pretty bird." Harry said in a gravelly voice while slowly stroking her shoulder, as if admiring her plumage. "_Pretty bird_..." He whispered, grinning in a slightly crazed way and slowing his strokes down even more.

Hermione snorted and couldn't help dissolving into giggles as she playfully tried to scoot away from Harry's disturbing show of affection.

* * *

After saying goodbye to Luna, the young couple began walking to their first class. Hermione sighed happily and swung the hand that held Harry's. "I almost can't believe we'll get to spend the summer together. It's like a dream." At this, her brow furrowed. She looked over her shoulder for a moment, then straight ahead, then she leaned her head back to regard Harry's behind. Harry looked confused. Finally, she pinched his bum.

"What was THAT for?" He demanded, rubbing the sore spot.

"Making sure I'm not dreaming." Hermione answered smugly. "Your bum is real. Ergo, we really will get to spend the whole summer together."

"I'm excited too, as long as you don't spend the whole summer abusing my bum." Harry laughed, still rubbing the afflicted region.

"No promises." Hermione shrugged.

Eventually, the Gryffindors found themselves entering their DADA classroom. Upon entering, the children immediately noticed a change. They had no instructor. At least, no person sat at the instructor's desk. There was, however, a very familiar black diary fixed firmly to the surface of the desk with what appeared to be a railroad spike. Near the diary was the small end of a gramophone horn; the large end was pointed toward the class. Also near the diary was a small placard which read "_Please do not touch!" _in loopy purple script.

The students eyed the door, waiting for an instructor to appear, but suddenly, a tinny voice was heard from the horn. "Hello." The voice sounded like a young man, no more than seventeen. "And welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts." The young man also sounded as if he did _not_ want to be there.

Hermione leaned over to Harry. "It's Tom!" She whispered. "Are they really letting an evil diary teach Defense Against the _Dark Arts_?" She demanded.

"Is it any weirder than learning history from a ghost?" Harry said out of the corner of his mouth with a shrug. "Remember, anything's better than Lockhart." Harry muttered.

"Until a permanent instructor can be found, I will be filling in for this course. I am familiar with the curriculum, having graduated from Hogwarts myself, and I am uniquely qualified to comment on the Dark Arts, as I am a _reformed_" he spat the word out, "practitioner of Dark Magic." The voice sighed. "Let's get started, then. Where did Professor Lockhart leave off?"

Dean Thomas, not too concerned with incurring the wrath of a _book_, spoke. "I think he was still teaching us how to be a useless ponce."

"A subject on which I assume he was quite authoritative." The voice said with mirth. "From what I know of Mr. Lockhart, I assume that none of us could even hope to reach his level of ineptitude. I suspect he had an innate gift for cowardice and arrogance. From now on, this course will relate to the improvement of Defense skill, as opposed to the choosing of hairstyles."

Hermione had begun to look less worried and more intrigued. The expectant look on her face seemed to say "we might learn something!"

"Until I am provided with sufficient materials for practical demonstration, we will be forced to limit our learning to theory." Tom said somewhat petulantly, peeved about his inability to do magic. "Now, we may see an attacker and be tempted to spring into action with no pause for thought. When there is no time for consideration, I concede that immediate self-defense is necessary. But your fight will be made easier if you take the time to _understand _your opponent. Why does he attack? Why you? His motivation, rather than his spell choice, is often the key to victory..."

By the end of class, Harry wasn't sure how he felt about the fact that an evil diary might be the best DADA instructor he'd ever had. Hermione didn't seem perturbed by it, though – she was diligently taking notes, nodding along with Tom's points. Yet again, Harry mused that magic was strange.

"It is, isn't it?" Hermione agreed as they walked to lunch. "I've heard that when we get to Care of Magical Creatures next year, the first practical exam requires you to subdue and breed two pandas."

"That sounds really difficult. And not appropriate for our age group. I don't think I'll mature enough in one year to do that without cracking a smile." He shook his head doubtfully. "Do you force them to mate, or just sort of convince them?" Harry wondered aloud.

"I don't know." Hermione shook her head. "I heard it secondhand, so it might all be rubbish, or it might be later in the curriculum, but the girl who told me said it was in an early exam because pandas aren't magical. I suppose by 7th year we'll be breeding unicorns or something."

"Sounds risky. The horns look pointy. I'm no expert on unicorn love, but I bet there's at least some potential for injury there." Harry theorized with a saucy grin, delighting in making Hermione blush.

"It sounds like the Headmaster might know a thing or two about unicorn love." Hermione giggled. "Maybe he'll be a guest lecturer for that lesson."

"I hope so. I _really_ want to hear the story behind that." Harry chuckled.

"It's a pretty good one, but nowhere near the coolest thing he's ever done." Ron piped up from behind them. He quickened his pace to catch up. "If you want to hear something amazing, ask him about his weekend in Monaco with that Muggle lady Minister."

"Margaret Thatcher?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Maggie, that's the one!" Ron confirmed. "He said they nearly started two wars and he lost both his eyebrows. They never grew back. He's just been using a glamour for years."

Hermione's jaw dropped and her eyes narrowed to slits as she tried to wrap her mind around the strange tale.

"They had to escape the country on a Vespa." Ron added. "Dumbledore's still not allowed back."

"I can't _wait _to tell my Mum about that." Hermione laughed. Harry just shook his head in disbelief. A big part of him wanted to party with Dumbledore, but another part of him insisted he wouldn't survive it.

"He only told me that story so he could tell me another one, but I never got to hear it." Ron whined. "Madame Pomfrey said she'd seen all she needed to see and that I could go back to class. Wouldn't let me stay and hear the rest."

They had reached the Great Hall and taken their seats, finding Luna already seated at the Gryffindor table for lunch. "Do we really have a new Defense Professor?" She inquired as Harry and Hermione settled in beside her.

"In a manner of speaking, yes." Hermione nodded. "More of an evil diary than a Professor, but a very well-read evil diary." She giggled at the unintentional pun.

"I suppose that means the rumors might be true." Luna said with mild surprise. "Supposedly, Professor Flitwick was telling Lockhart a story about his dueling days, when all of a sudden Lockhart tried to use a memory charm on him."

"No!" Hermione gasped.

"Professor Flitwick didn't let him land it, of course. People are saying he ducked the spell, popped back up and punched Lockhart so hard in the plums that he, and I quote, 'Fell over and screamed like a girl for five minutes straight.'" Luna said without a trace of mirth.

"_Yes._" Harry and Ron exclaimed in unison.

"Then," Luna continued, "Professor Flitwick held Lockhart at wandpoint and told him to find a replacement Defense Professor by morning, or he'd turn him in to the aurors. Apparently his solution was to brainwash the diary into non-violence, glue it to the desk, and flee the country."

"Nailed. It was nailed to the desk." Hermione muttered absently, still staring wide-eyed into space.

"It's never dull here, is it?" Luna asked, shaking her head.

"Nope." Harry replied.

Ron shook his head in wonder. "Luna, you have the coolest Head of House by _far_."

"Well... probably." Luna said demurely.

**Some say that The Most Interesting Man in the World is actually Filius Flitwick in an oversized costume. Some say he **_**chose **_**to be short because he knew it would only make his crotch-shots more potent. THEY'RE BOTH RIGHT.**

**By the way, that pun about the diary really was an accident.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Please head to my profile if you feel like voting on the name of the sequel.**

**PUT ME ON AUTHOR ALERT IF YOU ALREADY HAVEN'T. This is the end, folks. Sequel coming soon.**

Chapter 14 (or, Nineteen Weeks Later)

The school year was drawing to a close. Not much had changed, other than the lifting of the general sense of gloom which had gripped the school during the basilisk attacks.

Dobby's efforts to subdue the basilisk, though fruitless, were rewarded with a statue commemorating his (Dutch) courage. The statue depicted Dobby reaching out in anger to an unseen foe while wearing aviator sunglasses. Dobby had only agreed to the statue on the condition that it not bear his name, so the plaque read: "A Brave Elf." Draco Malfoy could occasionally be observed slowing down as he passed the statue, gazing intently at it, then shaking his head and moving on while muttering to himself.

Harry and Hermione spent pretty much every moment together, and many of those moments with Luna as well. The bullying problem had dropped off rather quickly after the truth regarding Lockhart's "resignation" had made the rounds through Ravenclaw house. The girls bullying Luna didn't have any testicles to punch, but they recognized that they were just as soft and mortal as everyone else.

Tom had eventually gotten the equipment he needed for practical demonstrations – he now controlled two animated suits of armor (enchanted by the Headmaster) for the purpose of illustrating dueling tactics. When it came to assisting students one-on-one, Tom was supplemented by a 7th year student aide.

A few days before the end of term, Hermione and the petrified students had all received a dose of Mandrake Restorative draught, which was a resounding success. The tail and ears had shrunken back into her, restoring her human ears and round pupils. She missed her heightened senses, but she felt as if a great burden had been lifted from her – she no longer had the secret. Harry still scratched the top of her head now and then, and she still enjoyed it very much.

Hermione had saved a few hairs from her feline features, which prompted Harry to ask why. "Just in case you decide you liked me better with a tail." She shrugged.

"I could go either way, really." He'd replied, squeezing her hand affectionately.

"That's the answer I was hoping for." Hermione had sighed and pecked him on the cheek.

* * *

The Hogwarts Express was abuzz with the news that Albus Dumbledore would not be returning as Headmaster next term. He was resigning, and Minerva McGonogall would become Headmistress. The news was (to the public) only a few hours old, and quite shocking. Dumbledore had been viewed as a constant – a part of Hogwarts itself. But during the end-of-year feast, he'd announced that he was done.

As the crowd erupted into calamity over his announcement, the aged Headmaster rummaged around under the staff table, and, with some effort, pulled out something large and shiny. It was an olive green Vespa. He wheeled it around the staff table, helmet held under one arm, and cupped a hand to his mouth. "Fawkes!" He called.

There was a burst of flame on the Vespa's handlebars, revealing the Headmaster's phoenix. The bird looked around in confusion, and trilled a questioning note. "I'm leaving, Fawkes. Keep Hogwarts safe for me?" Fawkes nodded and squawked what may have been a battle cry. "I'll come back and visit. Take care of Minnie, and try not to burn her new office down." He patted the bird on the head, and it disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Hagrid and the Professors had gathered around Dumbledore, offering mostly teary goodbyes. Some, unaware of the Headmaster's slipping faculties, entreated him to stay. "I'm afraid I cannot. Hogwarts and I have learned all we can from one another, and there's quite a bit of fun I've been meaning to have." He explained with a gentle smile. The old man put on his helmet, and the crowd around him broke. He kicked the Vespa to life and charged down the Great Hall toward the entrance, bent low over the handlebars, grinning like a madman and already looking fifty years younger.

As he buzzed by the Gryffindor table, Ron called out, "I thought you said the Italians impounded that thing!"

Albus Dumbledore just threw his head back and laughed. Putting on a burst of speed, he zipped through the immense doors and out of sight.

* * *

During the long ride to King's Cross, Harry and Hermione shared a compartment with Ron, Luna, and Neville. Exploding snap was played, chocolate frog cards were traded, and the fact that said frogs were meant to be eaten alive was discussed. Harry and Hermione also enjoyed some light cuddling, knowing that they would soon be under the watchful eye of Hermione's parents.

When the train came to a squeaking halt, the students began to disembark, shoving their trunks onto the platform and running off to greet their parents. Luna tapped Hermione on the shoulder, causing her to pause while the boys went ahead with their trunks. "I've noticed that your aura reaches out to Harry most in the mornings, and that would make sense if you had spent the night together."

Hermione blushed and looked at the floor.

"I worried that your parents might not allow you and Harry to continue sleeping together over the summer, so I tried to make you the next best thing." Luna explained, and handed Hermione a plush Harry doll.

Hermione's eyes softened and she took it delicately, smiling at the tiny likeness of her boyfriend with emerald green buttons for eyes. Suddenly, she grew suspicious. "This isn't one of Ginny's, is it?"

"No," Luna shook her head. "I made this one myself. Now you can sleep with Harry even if your parents don't want you to."

"Thank you, Luna." Hermione hugged the silver-eyed girl, provoking one of Luna's subtle but radiant smiles.

"Thank you for making my first year so wonderful, Hermione. Daddy told me before I left that I would make friends, but the more time went by, the more I worried that he was wrong." Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Luna pressed on. "Daddy's never lied to me before, so there were only two explanations that I could think of: Either the world wasn't as nice as the last time Daddy looked, or I wasn't very likable. I'm glad you and Harry proved him right." Luna had grown somewhat misty, and was rubbing her eyes.

Hermione gave her another squeeze. "You're very likable, Luna, and Harry and I would like to see you during the summer. We'll write you very soon, I promise." Hermione assured her. The two girls then began to drag their trunks out of the compartment.

Stan Granger's eyes settled on his daughter and the young man helping her off the train. His eyes narrowed, then closed. He drew in a deep breath through his nose. "Good." He sighed. "I smell fear." The remark earned him a smack on the shoulder from his wife Emma.

"Be nice." She warned him with a glare.

"Oh come on," he muttered. "Hermione's growing up. This is the first time I get to do that 'boys are the enemy' bit – let me savor it. I'm sure the novelty will wear off before I seriously hurt him."

"It had better." Emma couldn't help but smile as she shook her head, focused on Hermione and Harry, who were saying goodbye to a petite girl with white-blonde hair, a ginger, and a slightly pudgy young man who was being summoned by a woman with a dead bird on her head. The young couple finally approached the loose lineup of waiting parents.

Hermione dropped her trunk and dashed into her mother's arms, knocking her back a bit. Just as quickly as Emma had been embraced, she was released so that Hermione could attack Stan. Harry stood awkwardly, looking somewhat strained as he was holding a large owl cage in his right hand and one end of a trunk in his left. Emma stepped up to the boy, who hastily but gently sat the cage down and offered her a hand, smiling but also looking terrified.

"It's nice to meet you, ma'am." Harry said bashfully.

Emma ignored the proffered hand and instead hugged him tightly. "Thank you for making Hermione so happy." She said before releasing him.

"Tell me, Harry. Have you been fixed?" Hermione's father asked, staring Harry down. Hermione poked him hard in the stomach, causing him to flinch, ruining the menacing effect he'd been trying to achieve.

"That's Stan, Harry. If he gives you too much trouble, let me know and I'll put a stop to it." Emma assured him.

Harry and Hermione hefted their trunks and Hedwig's cage onto the luggage cart the Grangers had procured, and the party prepared to cross into the muggle portion of Kings Cross.

"So," Stan began as they made their way to his car. "Does that owl of yours just eat kibble? If she's up to it, we've got some mice in the garage."

"You won't have them much longer." Harry smiled.

Stan returned Harry's smile in the rear-view mirror. "Alright then, the owl can definitely stay. Harry, you're here on a trial basis." The comment earned him a light smack on the shoulder from his wife. "You know," he gestured toward Emma and Hermione, "they weren't this violent before you showed up."

Harry laughed nervously and looked to Hermione, who gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. It was going to be an interesting summer.

* * *

Donuts

Stan Granger was a reasonable man. He was slow to anger, never obnoxious or pushy, and he always tried to be understanding. Stan reflected on his reputation with a smirk as he drove through Surrey toward Little Whinging, slightly above the posted speed limits. He traveled – of necessity – alone.

Minutes later, he was humming a happy tune and grinding his teeth together as he turned on to Privet Drive.

Normally, Stan wouldn't dream of getting mud on his most prized possession – his M5. He loved the car, and it showed in the way he took care of it. It was immaculate, inside and out; he'd even resisted the urge to buy a "FLOSS HARDER!" bumper sticker on the grounds that it would ruin the car's natural beauty. What's more, he would only drive it like a hooligan on special occasions.

Tonight's occasion was special. His daughter, Hermione, had come home from school a few days ago with her best friend, claiming he had been mistreated by his relatives. At first, Stan had been ready to assume that the boy was exaggerating some perceived injustice and was there to impinge upon his daughter's virtue. But then he listened to his wife's recounting of Harry Potter's living conditions. When Harry confirmed the tales with a reluctant nod, Stan became outraged.

Hermione had revealed to her mother by letter that on top of losing his parents to a crazed killer when he was only a year old, Harry had been beaten, starved, and made to live in a cupboard until he was eleven. Then, when he returned from his first year at Hogwarts with Hermione (during which he'd rescued their daughter from a troll), he'd been locked in his room with the windows barred, utterly isolated from the outside world.

Stan and his wife had of course opened their home to Harry indefinitely – anything to get him away from his dysfunctional, abusive family. Thankfully, the Dursleys had been very agreeable to the idea of Harry never coming back. Stan and his family were currently wrestling with the matter of how to legally keep the boy, and he had to admit the kid was growing on him. He was still slightly worried about his daughter's virtue, but he'd never seen his little girl happier, and Hermione took every chance to remind him that Harry was the cause.

In the meantime, however, the matter of justice remained. Harry insisted that he didn't want to go to the police regarding the years of abuse he suffered under the "care" of his scumbag relatives. Hermione had urged him to listen to Harry, which, ultimately, he had done. Of course, this was after realizing that young Harry hadn't expressly forbidden him from exacting vicarious vengeance and never telling him about it. Plans began to form in his head – plans he would execute alone.

Pulling up alongside Number 2 Privet Drive and eyeing his target – Number 4 – he rolled his windows down just a crack, and revved his engine. His lips curled into a feral smile, and he began to plot his trajectory.

One minute later, his work was nearly done. Number 4 Privet Drive looked as if its lawn had been transplanted onto the house by a team of drunken landscapers. Stan's M5 looked as if it had just completed a very wet portion of the Paris-Dakar. Happily, it had rained last night.

A very purple Vernon Dursley stood on the porch, bellowing in impotent rage as some scrawny bloke with a filthy car lassoed his mailbox and shot off down the street, uprooting the mailbox, which then tore a large chunk out of his hedge. Thinking the madman was finished, Vernon huffed his way to the street to shake his fist at the retreating – oh, bollocks, he was turning around. Vernon's eyes bulged with fear and he threw himself back onto the lawn, narrowly avoiding the filthy M5 as it barreled down on him. From his place in the mud, Vernon heard the screech of tires as the lunatic switched direction again. As the car roared by one last time, Vernon heard the man yell something.

"Harry deserved better than you, you fat bastard!" And with that, Stan was gone, leaving a trail of muddy justice in his wake. It wasn't enough to make up for years of abuse, but it was a start.

**Please head to my profile if you feel like voting on the name of the sequel.**

**If there was a graduate level class on how to cause international incidents, Dumbledore would design the curriculum himself. The final exam would test your ability to escape Austria with a bootful of dead prostitutes and priceless artifacts. If you pass, you immediately get appointed to public office. Pretty high stakes if you fail, though.**

**I've had Donuts written since before I was even certain Hermione would bring Harry home with her. Stan's car skidded into my head sideways and it all fell onto the page at once.**


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